Guide to Insanity (And Love)
by Koshka-Rayn
Summary: Collection of oneshots bearing various pairings. Contains GerIta, Spamano, FrUK, USCan, PruAus, and Giripan. About the Seven Deadly Sins.
1. Envy

"Ve~" Feliciano cooed softly, flipping through the antique Italian cookbooks. "Oh, Luddy might like this one!" And he added it to the stack.

"Geeze, Feli, are all these books really neccessary?" Peter groaned, arms trembling under the weight of the not-exactly-small books.

"Sì!" Feliciano grinned widely. "Now, be a good boy Peter and shut up, or I'll tell Arthur and Alistair where you a~are~!'

Peter scowled deeply but remained silent. He was only doing this for the help (coughFOODcough), though. Unable to see where he was going, the stack of books was so high, he tripped, falling into a young woman with brilliant blue hair, cherry red lips and neon blue fishnets under black short shorts.

The woman was the first to recover, shaking herself and sitting up. "Good thing I wasn't drinking anything..." She looked at her 'attacker' and a slow smile spead across her face. "Ah, petit Peter!"

"H-hello, Paris," Peter mumbled, scrambling around to pick up all the spilt books.

Paris stood, stretched, and bent down to help clean, noting curiously the titles. "Italian cookbooks?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded, "Feli made me his book-mobile for the day in exchange for food."

Laughing, Paris helped the boy stand, straightened the stack, and sent him on his way. Looking around, she noted absently that her book was missing, and smiled.

"Ah, this plan is going off perfectly," she laughed. "Now~ it's time for my date wih Gabriel!"

"What the hell are all these books for?" Romano sputtered, poking through the canvas sack on the counter.

"Ve~!" Feliciano grinned at him, holding up a wooden spoon. "So I can try some new recipes, of course!"

Romano scoffed, walking away. "Planning on your potato-sucker?"

"Luddy? Sì!" Feliciano smiled, waving the spoon spastically. Romano snorted, walking out of the kitchen, and Feliciano turned to the bag of books.

Sorting through them, the happy Italian came upon one he didn't remember grabbing.

"Ve~ what's this? 'Guide to Insanity'...?" He turned it over in his hands curiously. "Where did this come from?" Feliciano flipped to the first section, clearly marked as Envy, and scanned the page, eyes narrowed in thought.

_1) Green_

_Is there something you feel just soo possessive over? Something you just don't want anyone else to have? Are you 'Green With Envy'?_

Feliciano pursed his lips, scanning through his memory. Was there something he didn't want anyone else to have? Well... There was Ludwig, but he was a person, so he probably didn't count. But other than him, no, nothing...

Speaking of Luddy, he was supposed to go over and cook him and Gilbert dinner that night...

"Luddy, ve~!" Feliciano sang, throwing open the door of the blonde German's office.

"Ja?" Ludwig looked up blandly, "What is it, Feli?"

"Ve~" Feliciano skipped inside, bearing a steamy plate of the German's favorite pasta. "I made you pasta, Luddy~!" Setting the plate down, he knelt, peering over the top of the desk, waiting anxiously for Ludwig to take the first bite.

Ludwig rolled his eyes, smiling faintly (it was barely noticable) and reached for the plate.

_1) Selfish Shellfish_

_Why do you want them all to yourself? Why do you want no one else to have any of them? What makes them so special? What makes you so envious?_

Feliciano peered over the back of the couch, glaring daggers at the buxom brunette woman soliciting at the Beilshmidt's door.

She shifted uncomfortably, practically twitching, and Feliciano increased the temperature of his gaze. Maybe if he glared hard enough, she'd burst into flames...?

"I think someone's a little jea~lous~" Gilbert whispered beside Feliciano's ear, and the little Italian jumped a mile high.

Gilbert collapsed to the floor, laughing, making Ludwig glance over his shoulder curiously.

"Shush!" Feliciano hissed, kicking the albino's side, "I am not!"

"Ow..." Gilbert pouted, rubbing his ribs. "Come on, yeah you are."

Feliciano stuck his tongue out, crossing his arms and turning away. "Am. Not."

"Why are you denying it?" Gilbert pursed his lips, crossing his arms to mock the pouty Feliciano.

"Luddy!" Feliciano cried, dashing over and burying his face in the blonde's back. "Gilbert's making fun of me!"

"Hey!" Gilbert exclaimed indignantly, hands flopping to the floor. "Am not!"

Ludwig sighed, "Gilbert, stop teasing Feli."

Moth dropping open in shock, Gilbert stared between his baby brother and the devious little Italian that had him wrapped around his little finger. Feliciano twisted to toss a wink at him, smirking triumphantly. Then he turned back to glare at the brunette woman standing in the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around Ludwig's waist.

She shifted uncomfortably, "I...should probably go..."

Uncaring, Ludwig shrugged, said goodbye, and closed the door. "You can let go now, Feli."

"Aw, but Luddy..." Feliciano pouted, burrowing closer. "I don't want to..."

Ludwig blushed faintly, eyes closing, breathing deeply through his nose. "Please, Feli...?"

Sighing dramatically, the Italian dripped off Ludwig and slouched into the kitchen. "Ve... I'll just go make some pasta then..." And he closed the door gently behind him.

Gilbert stared at his brother.

"What?" Ludwig asked, glaring defensively.

"I _cannot_ believe you haven't tapped that," GIlbert sighed morosely, standing. "I mean, you obviously like him, and he's pretty damn cute. And this is coming from a straight guy, remember?"

Ludwig's jaw dropped and he sputtered incoherantly for several long moments, blush creeping up his neck.

Smirking triumphantly, Gilbert stood and stretched, back popping. He patted Ludwig's shoulder and disappeared back into the black depths of his basement bedroom.

Ludwig retreated to his office, fighting his blush. "Bastard brother..."

_3) Peace or Violence or Time Wasted?_

_What makes you envious? What makes it worth it to be envious? What sparks your envy, first of all. You envy other people being around them, don't you? You envy other people taking 'you time' away from them... Don't you._

Feliciano lounged on the couch, a glass of excellent imported French wine (he wanted some variety) within easy reach. The _Guide_ rested on his lap and he stared up at the ceiling.

"Ve~ Why-a am I envious? Is that what this emotion is called?" He looked down at the book, "En...vy...? That doesn't sound right, though..." Lips pursed in contemplation, Feliciano was so caught up in his thinking he almost didn't hear the front door open.

"Veni~ Roma~! Granpa is here!"

Feliciano leapt up, book dropping from his lap, troubles forgotten. "Ve~! Granpa!" He tackled the tall, wirey man with messy chocolate hair enthusiastically and was spun around in a circle.]

"Veneciano!" Caesar laughed, finally setting him down and patting his head. "Where's Roma?"

"I-a think he's in the back garden," Feliciano said brightly.

Caesar pursed his lips, "Shall we go fetch him then?"

"Ve~ Sì!" Feliciano laughed, clapping his hands. "I wanted to show you the garden anyways! It's Roma's pride and joy, you know?" Leading the tall man out the back door and down the sunny garden path, Feliciano pointed out many of the things as they breezed by. Finally, they stopped at a low wrought-iron gate.

"Ve~ Roma! Granpa Caesar is back!" Feliciano leaned over the gate, searching for his slightly darker twin.

The dark head perked up from between two rown of tomatoes. He blinked, surprised, and brushed at a strand of hair on his cheek, smearing a line of dirt across his face. "Granpa?"

"Sì!" Caesar leaned over the gate, waving happily. "Come on, Roma!"

The petite Italian rolled his eyes and sighed, but stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. He languidly walked over and grabbed his shirt from the fence, tossing it over his shoulder.

"Ah-ha!" Caesar laughed, pointing at his own bare chest. "We match, Roma!"

Feliciano hadn't even noticed...

Caesar hugged his grandson tightly, then took both boys by their shoulders and directed them back into the house.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo, Roma~" Caesar said lightly, pushing open the front door.

Romano blushed lightly, brushing his fingertips over the design on his lower back. "Yeah..."

"And mi fratello won't tell me where or why he got it," Feliciano pouted, crossing his arms.

Rolling his eyes, Romano moved to the sink to scrub the dirt out from underneath his fingernails. "Because it's not important."

Puffing out his cheeks, Feliciano glared at his twin, "Why so mean, Fratello?"

Caesar chuckled lightly, clapping a hand on Romano's bare shoulder. "Ah, I remember when I was your age! I did some interesting things back then..."

"Sì, we know," Romano rolled his eyes, shutting off the sink and flicking some excess water at his grandfather. "How was your trip to Rome? Meet any cute girls?"

Caesar laughed; the boy was definitely his grandson! "Ah, sì!, some cute girls, but some rather handsome men as well~!"

"Ve?" Feliciano cocked his head to the side.

Caesar laughed, smiling, walking over to the bag he'd brought back. "Come, see, see," he beckoned the two over, grinning widely. He opened a photo album he'd pulled from the bag directly to a picture of he and another, blonde, man standing in front of the Coliseum. "That is Amadeus."

"Ve! You two look so cute together!" Feliciano sighed, a dreamy look in his eyes. He wished he could find someone to look that happy with...

"Sì, you do," Romano nodded, arms crossed. "Funny, but Amadeus looks like your potato-sucker boyfriend, Feli."

"Ah!" Feliciano spluttered incoherently for a moment, "Roma! We are not together!"

"I'm guessing by potato-sucker you mean Ludwig?" Caesar asked, a vague, happy smile gracing his lips.

"Sì," Romano nodded.

"Don't call Luddy a potato-sucker, fratello," Feliciano pouted, puffing out his cheeks. "That's not nice."

_4) Attention and Attraction_

_Is your envy _envy _ or lust or posessiveness? Or, you know..._

_Love?_

"Ve~! Luddy~!" The spastic Italian pressed against his favorite German on the planet.

"Hello, Feli," Ludwig sighed, petting Feliciano's head. His fingers accidentally brushed against that _one_ curl, and Feliciano melted.

"Ah...Luh...Luddy," Feliciano murmurred, eyes closing.

Turning a bright red, Ludwig stared down at Feliciano in shock. "Feh-Feliciano? What...?"

"I..." Feliciano kissed Ludwig's jaw, loosening his tie. "I wanted to tell you this another way, Luddy," he kissed Ludwig's pulse, "but this works just as well, yes?"

Ludwig was slowly turning an unhealthy shade of red. "Feli...What are you doing?"

In answer, Feliciano pulled Ludwig down and kissed him fully on the lips. "I love you, Luddy. With all my heart. Do you love me too?" He looked at him with wide, sweet (lustful) brown eyes.

"Ah..." Ludwig gulped, blushing. "Ja, ja I do, Feli. Ich liebe dich..."

"Ve..." Feliciano kissed him again. "Ti amo, Luddy. Molto..."

**YAY IT'S DONE! Even if it is really really really short compared to the others... TT~TT**

**By the way, ****_molto_**** meant 'very much' in Italian. Ich Liebe Dich means I Love You in German, and Ti Amo is I Love You in Italian.**

**Uh... Oh! Amadeus is Germania (hence why he looks like the potato-bastard. Er, Germany. Heh...) I just think Rome (Caesar) and him make a cute couple, da?**

**Anyvay, dasvedanya!**


	2. Wrath

"Lovino!" Antonio called, pushing open the door of the house. "I know you're in here, Lovi!"

"I'm over here, tomato-bastard," Romano sighed, standing up from his tomato patch.

"Ah, Lovi!" Antonio grinned, practically skipping out to greet his favorite little pasta-lover. "There you are!"

"Where else would I be?" Romano asked slowly, as if talking to a three-year-old.

"I don't know, Lovi," Antonio shrugged. "You seem like you've been avoiding me lately."

"A-avoiding you?" Romano squeaked, blushing. "Wh-what would make you think that, idiota?"

Antonio shrugged, walking into the garden. "I don't know, Lovino. You don't answer the phone, and you're never around anymore." He bent to inhale the heady, earthy scent of the sun-warmed tomatoes.

"Heh," Romano chuckled nervously, turning his back on the ender nation. "I don't know what you're talking about, tomato-bastard."

"Oh, come on, Lovi," Antonio chuckled, observing the back of his little friend. He approached on silent feet, wrapping his arms around the smaller nation.

"D-don't touch me!" Romano exclaimed, ripping himself away. He ran away, dodging Antonio's reaching grasp.

"Lovi?" Antonio asked confusedly, watching the younger man go. "Why…?"

Romano flopped down on his bed, burying his face in the huge, soft pillows. "Am I crazy?" He sighed. Then jumped at the loud 'thump' that came from something hitting one of the feet of his bed.

He glanced down, spying the thin, green book that stared up at him from the floor.

'_Guide to Insanity [- -] (This part was scribbled out.)_

"A crazy guide?" Romano blinked, picking up the book confusedly. He flipped open the cover, and his eyes were assaulted by the dark black print, standing out obnoxiously bright against the pure white page.

_ Thinking you're crazy? Having uncontrollable reactions for someone you know? Blushing, stuttering, avoidance? Well, you're not alone. This handy-dandy little guide right here will help you figure things out._

_1) Realization:_

_ So. Think you're crazy? Well, that is why we're here to help! Are you stuttering, nervous around someone you know, and you don't know why? The first thing any sane person must admit when they think they're going insane is to admit that they think they are going insane._

Romano sighed, flipping the book closed. "Why the hell am I reading this?" He grumbled, thumping himself on the forehead. "Ow…"

"Lovi, I know you're in here," Antonio toned, knocking on Romano's bedroom door. "Why are you avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?"

Romano pulled open the door, keeping his face carefully neutral. "No, idiota, what would make you think that?"

"You always leave when I try to talk to you," Antonio pouted. "I miss you, Lovi!"

"You're talking to me right now, bastard," Romano scoffed, strangely without much venom to his voice.

"I know," Antonio smiled, hugging Romano tightly. "Te amo, Lovi!"

"Sh-shut up, tomato-bastard!" Romano exclaimed, wriggling out of Antonio's grasp. "Stop touching me!"

"But Lovi-!" Antonio began, only to be cut off when Romano shoved him backwards and slammed and locked the door.

Antonio sighed, slumping morosely out into the kitchen. "Your fratello doesn't like me…" He grumbled sadly to Feliciano.

"Nonsense!" Feliciano scoffed. "Ve, fratello is just awkward right now because he's just realizing…" He cut himself off.

"He's just realizing what?" Antonio blinked at him.

"Ve, nothing!" Feliciano just smiled sweetly, patting Antonio's shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sure he'll tell you himself. Someday."

"I hope so…" Antonio sighed, slumping down against the table.

Feliciano could practically _see_ the dark cloud hovering over Antonio's head.

Romano slid down the door, his head in his hands. "Oh, dios mio…what is wrong with me?" He smacked his head against the door, then winced. "Ow!" He crawled over to his bed, picking up his journal. Not a diary, damn it, but a JOURNAL.

_**What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm acting like a love-struck freaking schoolgirl! This is ridiculous. I'm being a moron. Stupid tomato bastard with his happy smile and oblivious gaze. Damn bastard…**_

Romano scowled, slapping the notebook shut, practically throwing the black pen across the room. "And writing is supposed to help me think," he scoffed.

He pulled open the 'Crazy Guide,' not really because he thought he was crazy, but because he liked the sarcastic, slightly patronizing tone the book had.

_2) Acceptance:_

_ Well, you're crazy. Time to buck up and get used to it, buddy._

Romano grinned jauntily, finishing out the chapter of the book. He ran his fingers over the cover, wondering, not for the first time, what had been scribbled out on the cover of the book.

"Ve, fratello, dinner's ready," Feliciano said, knocking gently on Romano's door.

"Okay, coming," Romano said, stuffing the book under his pillow and going out into the dining room. "Is that tomato bastard here?"

"No," Feliciano shook his head. "He went out tonight with Francis and Gilbert."

Romano wrinkled his nose in distaste. He could barely stand Antonio's freaky friends on a good day, so he was glad they were gone.

Francis nudged Antonio's shoulder. "Lover troubles, Toni?"

Antonio shrugged, tilting back his head and draining the last of his drink.

"Probably lack of, actually," Gilbert snickered.

"Shut up, Gil," Antonio grumbled, glaring half-heartedly at his drink.

"Yup," Francis nodded. "Our poor Toni is going through withdrawals."

"I'm not a sex addict," Antonio retorted. "Unlike some other people I could mention…"

Francis laughed, winking at the blonde bartender, who winked right back, blowing him a kiss. "I know who I want tonight…"

"Whore…" Antonio snickered, waving for another drink.

"Did you say something, tomato-for-brains?" Francis asked sweetly.

"You're a whore, Francy-pants," Gilbert laughed uproariously.

"At least I enjoy myself," Francis smirked. "Unlike some people I could mention…" He mocked Antonio's former words.

"Remind me to kill you later, okay?" Antonio laughed, chugging his drink. "Preferably in a painful and humiliating manner, hm?"

"Can do," Francis laughed, clapping Antonio's back. "Now, it's time to have fun, ami!"

Antonio stumbled down the street, Gilbert to his left, both of them stupidly drunk. Francis had left a few hours earlier, along with that Ukrainian bartender, What's-His-Face.

Antonio and Gilbert were singing together, loudly and quite badly, in their native languages. Antonio might have had a little Italian mixed in there as well, but no one cared. Or noticed.

"C'mon Tonio," Gilbert beckoned to his friend. "Yoo can stay the night t'night cause you can barely walk!"

"Look hoooose talkin'," Antonio laughed, pointing a finger somewhere in the general direction of the albino. "Gilly-Bird, I think you're drunk!"

"Shaddup," Gilbert scoffed, turning to bang on the front door of his home. "Weeest! Open the door, fucktard! I wanna go inside cause it's cold out here…"

There was no response from inside.

"C'mon, West!" Gilbert banged harder on the door. "Don't be a twat!"

Antonio added his voice to the din. "Ludwiguh, if you don't open the door Imma barf on your flowerrrs!"

The door opened with a snap, revealing a slightly more than vaguely annoyed Ludwig. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try us," Gilbert laughed, pushing past his brother, stumbling over air. "I would soooo have barfed on your damn flowers if you hadn't opened the door, West."

Ludwig sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, closing the front door behind his two drunk friends. "Vhy do I put up with you again, brudder?"

"Cause I'm so totally awesome, duh," Gilbert laughed, narrowly avoiding running into a chair by tripping over a low coffee table. "Ow, fuck, West, when the hell did that fucking thing get there?"

"It's always been there," Ludwig sighed, turning back to his room. He knew what was going to happen next. "Brudder, remember that your room is the last door on the left."

"Right, right," Gilbert nodded, grabbing Antonio's hand and dragging him back to the last door on the left. "C'mere mah prudish friend."

"I'm not a prude," Antonio giggled, allowing himself to be dragged without complaint.

Germany sweatdropped, going to his own room on the opposite end of the house. He was thankful, so very, _very_ thankful that the walls had been soundproofed by the previous owner.

There were some advantages of living in a former bordello, really. Except the chains in the basement. Those were kinda creepy.

_3)Cause & Effect:_

_ 'Why is this happening to me?' you're probably asking yourself. 'What did I do to deserve this? What god did I piss off in another life to get this?' Well, suck it up. Who/what did this to you? I have no clue, I'm just a book. That, my friend, is something you're going to have to figure out all on your own. So figure it out. NOW._

Romano grumbled to himself, setting the book down with a huff. He knew exactly who's fault this was. "Damnable Spaniard…" It was all his fault. It always was, you know.

"Roma, Ludwig and I are going out for a little bit," Feliciano sang, pushing open Romano's bedroom door. "Okay?"

"Si, fratello," Romano scowled. "You better make sure that damn potato sucker doesn't do anything stupid."

Feliciano laughed. "Ve, I think I would be more likely to make a fool of myself, fratello. Si?"

"That's because you're an idiot," Romano smirked. "Have fun, don't drown or anything. Oh, and, tell the potato bastard that if you get hurt I will personally come over there and castrate him, then shove his hairy little balls down his fucking throat. Si?"

"Okay, fratello," Feliciano said smiled benignly and closing the door behind him. "Ciao!"

"Ciao, Feli," Romano said absently, flopping down on his back on his squishy bed. He had the house to himself now…wonderful. "Hours alone with my thoughts…" He smirked bitterly. "Joy. Let's hope I don't break anything. Again…"

Last time Romano had been let to his own devices, he'd gotten drunk and disappeared for three days. He still hadn't told anyone about it, but he'd come back with a tattoo on his back of a dragon with a gaping hole in it's chest.

That was three months ago, and the only ones who knew about the tattoo were him and Feliciano, who kept pestering Romano about where he'd been until the elder twin was near to strangling the younger. And Feliciano still didn't know the answer to his questions.

Romano stared at his peach-colored ceiling, wondering what he could do to appease his boredom. Finally, he settled on turning his radio on as loud as it would go and listening to Italian rock songs, and taking a shower. Music blasted through the house; Romano was pretty sure that if the neighbors hadn't been on vacation to the United States they'd be complaining bitterly. Like always.

He stripped, climbing into the shower, letting the warm water run over his body. He relaxed into the water, one hands sneaking down between his legs to slid smoothly along his already hardening member. He stroked himself, bringing his member to full mast, working himself to release.

A single name slipped out from between his tightly clenched teeth. A single name that Romano himself didn't even realize he had uttered. Just one name.

"Antonio…"

Antonio sat up in Gilbert's bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He squinted at the clock, groaning at the time.

"Shutthefuckup," Gilbert spat, burying his face under the pillows to shield himself from the dim light sneaking under the thick curtains.

"You," Antonio grumbled, standing. "Where the hell are my boxers?"

"Hell if I know," Gilbert's voice came, muffled, from under the pillow. "Borrow a pair of mine; it's not like you haven't done it before."

Antonio nodded amicably, digging through Gilbert's dresser drawers till he found a pair of boxers that weren't as ridiculously flashy as many of the other pairs. He snagged a t-shirt and his still-clean shorts from the night before, then padded off to the bathroom to shower and change.

He stood under the hot water for a good fifteen minutes, doing nothing. Just leaning against the back wall, a tight feeling in his gut. And then he retched noisily into the bottom of the shower.

"Blegh…" Antonio mumbled, feeling only slightly better. "I hate drinking."

"Because you're suck a fucking lightweight," Gilbert grumbled, puking into the toilet.

"Oh, shut up," Antonio muttered weakly, reaching for a toothbrush on the sink counter.

_4) Deal With It:_

_ You're gonna have to figure out how to deal with this eventually, so now is as good a time as any. Just, for god's sake, don't act all awkward and crap around the thing that's got you all confused. Try to avoid that at ALL COSTS._

"Hey, Romano!" Antonio banged open the door to the Vargas household.

"What?" Romano looked up from his book, a vague guilty expression crossing his features before returning to his customary scowl. "Oh. Tomato bastard. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to say hi, Lovi!" Antonio flopped down on the couch next to the scowling young man. "Is that a crime now?"

"Yes, yes it is," Romano grumbled, turning away from Antonio.

"But Lovi!" Antonio whined, tugging on Romano's curl.

"**Don't touch that, bastard**!" Romano growled, smacking away Antonio's hand, bright red.

"Why not, Lovi?" Antonio inquired curiously. "You always tell me not to, but you never tell me why."

Romano glared at Antonio out of the corner of his eye. "You don't need to know, damn it. It doesn't concern you."

"But Lovi!" Antonio complained.

"No!" Romano snapped, blush fading, to be replaced by a dark scowl. "Can't you go find one of your perverted friends to hang out with?"

"No," Antonio shook his head. "Gilbert's watching futbol with West, and I haven't been able to locate Francis."

Romano scowled at him. "Whatever." He turned away, resolutely ignoring the Spaniard.

"Whatcha reading?" Antonio asked curiously, trying to peer over Romano's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the page.

"N-none of your business!" Romano exclaimed, snapping the book shut.

Antonio sighed, slumping backwards. "Fine, Lovi…I guess I'll just go now."

"Thank god," Romano sighed, once the other had left, rubbing his face in his hands. "Damn Spaniard…never leaves me alone…" He shifted awkwardly, his pants feeling far to tight to be comfortable. "Stupid curl…" He grumbled, pulling on it harshly, feeling a responding heat pull in his stomach. "Time for another shower, I think…" Romano grumbled to himself, making his way gingerly to the bathroom.

_5) You're Not Alone:_

_ I promise you, you're not alone; no matter how much it may seem like it, there are people going through what you're going through every damn day. You're not the only one, so don't act like it. The world does NOT hate you, people don't NOT want to be with you; if they do it's only because you're being an annoying twat and forcing everyone away._

"Feli, Romano doesn't like me," Antonio pouted, crossing his arms.

"Ve…I'm sure he'll come around," Feliciano shrugged, stirring his sauce. "He always does, si?"

"Si, but this time I really think he hates me," Antonio sighed, sitting on one of the barstools.

Feliciano patted Antonio's shoulder, curl springing through the air like it had a mind of it's own.

"Also," Antonio began, drawing in the condensation on his glass. "Why does Lovi not like having his curl touched?"

"Ve," Feliciano giggled. "You haven't guessed yet? It's a…a…erogenous zone, I think dat's the word…"

Antonio stared blankly at him.

"It's a turn on, Toni," Feliciano giggled. "Every time you pull on fratello's curl, it makes him all hot and bothered. Ve~ you really didn't notice?"

"Oh…" Antonio muttered, eyes wide as saucers. "Oh dear…I didn't know!"

"Of course not," Ludwig said, sitting down on the other barstool, watching his little Italian bustle around the kitchen. "It took me awhile to figure out, too."

"But then we were able to put it to good use," Veneciano winked.

Ludwig smirked, and Antonio blushed tomato red. "Dios mio…I don't need to know about your sex life, gracias."

Romano lay on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His stomach churned miserably, and his palms were sweaty. He was really nervous, and he didn't know why, and it was driving him _crazy_. Something…there was a little something hanging in the air, and whether it was a portent for good or bad, no one could say…

_6) Recognizing Your 'Insanity' For What it Really Is:_

_ Okay, cut the crap. If you haven't realized that your 'insanity' is really love, then you're stupider than I thought. You love him/her, don't you? Admit it. ADMIT IT, you're not fooling anyone. Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh... Oh well. Suck it up._

Romano gave a muffled shout, throwing the book across the room. "No! of course not! Stupid book!"

"Roma? Are you okay?"

Of course it was Feliciano, wondering what Romano was yelling about. And what that loud noise was…?

"I'm fine, Feli, go away," Romano grumbled, glaring at his favorite tomato-shaped pillow. The one that had a vague scowl and narrowed eyes. The…one that Antonio had gotten him, actually…

"But Roma…" Feliciano deftly pulled a paperclip out of his back pocket and used it to pick the lock on his elder twin's room. "What's wrong?" He always knew when something was truly bothering his brother.

"Remind me again why I taught you how to pick locks?" Romano grumbled, grabbing the tomato pillow and crushing it to his chest.

"So if I ever lost my keys again, I could just break in!" Feliciano grinned widely, flopping down on the bed next to Romano. "So…Roma, what's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong!" Romano yelled, gripping his pillow tightly. He covertly tucked the book under his bed with the toe of his foot, hoping Feliciano hadn't seen it.

Feliciano shook his head, pulling Romano into a hug. "Lovi, ve~, you can always tell me! I may not be smart, but I'm a good listener!"

Romano sighed, glancing down. "It's…really, Feli, it's nothing you have to worry about. I'll figure it out on my own, si?"

"Okay…" Feliciano hugged Romano tighter. "Te amo, fratello!"

"Yes, yes, te amo," Romano muttered, patting Feliciano's back. "Now get the hell off me, bastard."

"Ve~!" Feliciano jumped up. "Ciao!"

"Bye," Romano waved as Feliciano closed his door. He flopped backwards on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, confused as hell. He reached under the low bed, and grabbed _that_ book. He held it up, and the light from the sun out the window glinted off the cover, allowing him to see what had been scribbled out.

"Ah…hell…" Romano cursed. "_Guide to Insanity and Love_?" He sighed, tossing an arm over his eyes for a mid-afternoon siesta.

His dreams were filled with a certain brunette Spaniard with bright brown eyes and an inquisitive smile.

"Roma! Toni's here!" Feliciano yelled through the door, to no answer. "Roma? Are you awake?" He opened the unlocked door, spying Romano flopped on his back, mouth hanging open, eyes shut tight in sleep. "Aw…ve~ It's so cute!"

He tucked Romano's favorite pillow next to his head, backing quietly out of the room.

"He's asleep," Veneciano giggled, poking Antonio.

"He is?" Antonio blinked. "Si?"

"Si!" Feliciano giggled, "Ve~ it's so adorable!"

Antonio smiled, rolling his eyes. "Feli, you're such a dork."

"Ve?" Feliciano titled his head to the side.

"Nothing," Antonio shook his head, smirking softly.

Romano jerked awake with a start, sweaty and panting. He pants felt noticeably tighter, an almost uncomfortable amount of pressure on his member. He grumbled, sitting up awkwardly.

He recognized the person that had been invading his dreams for the past few weeks now. Finally.

"Antonio…" He muttered, blushing.

A quick glance out the window showed him that it was after dark, and that the moon was already rising. He mumbled under his breath, his stomach demanding sustenance. He opened his door, glancing back and forth.

No one was awake. Or so it seemed…

He crept to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and immediately spied the plate with his name on it, literally and figuratively. Plastic-wrapped spaghetti, with a sticky note with 'Lovi~' written on it in Feliciano's distinct scribble. Romano pulled it out, licking his lips hungrily.

"Lovi?"

Romano spun, nearly dropping his plate. He dove, cradling it to his chest like it was a baby, glaring up at the owner of the voice. "Bastard!" He hissed, scowling fiercely.

"Ah, Lovi!" Antonio yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It's almost midnight."

"So what?" Romano grumbled, grabbing a fork, tossing the plastic wrap in the garbage. "This is my house, damn tomato bastard. I can be awake whenever I want to!" He stared at his plate, hoping the Spaniard didn't notice his blush. He was still getting used to the idea of liking… Oh, who are we kidding? _Loving_ the damn bastard.

"I know," Antonio sat down across from him, kicking up his feet on a chair. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

"Whenever I damn well pleased!" Romano scowled fiercely at him, stabbing a chunk of tomato and shoving it in his mouth. "What's it to you?"

"Oh, nothing," Antonio shrugged, grinning faintly.

The only noise for many long moments was the chink of silverware on china.

"Stop fucking staring at me!" Romano exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the table irritably. "Fucking creeper…"

Antonio smiled blandly, eyes closing. He yawned.

"Go to bed," Romano said.  
"Aw, Lovi, are you worried about me?" Antonio smiled sweetly.

"Fuck no!" Romano growled. "I'm just tired of you staring at me while I try to eat, damn it!"

Antonio laughed, standing. He ruffled Romano's hair as he passed by, going back to bed.

Romano scowled at his pasta, blushing. "Damn…"

_PART II: Solving Your Real Problem_

_1) It's Called A Confession:_

_ Don't be embarrassed, people confess their love for one another all the time! Be it a simple 'I love you' or a more elaborate 'You are my heart and soul,' each person has their own interpretation of it. So. Do it. I COMMAND IT. Heh, just kidding. But seriously. Get with the program, bitch._

Romano scowled, snorting. "Yeah, right…" He muttered, "As if." He stared at the ceiling, frowning thoughtfully. As if Antonio would ever actually love him too, he mentally mused. Especially not when he had so many other options available.

"Lovi!" Antonio sang, throwing open the door.

Romano yelped, hurriedly stuffing the book between his bed and bedside table. He chucked a pillow at the obnoxious Spaniard to buy him some time.

Antonio yelped, catching the pillow in the face. It bounced off him, and landed smoothly in his hands. "Ah~ Lovi! You kept the pillow I got you! I'm so happy!"

"Stop getting so sappy, bastard," Romano muttered, looking down. "I only kept it 'cause it's soft."

"But you kept it~" Antonio grinned, flopping down next to Romano on his bed. "That's what counts, Lovi!"

Romano mumbled nothing in particular, blushing, looking away.  
"Lovi!" Antonio hugged his favorite Italian -hell, his favorite person- to him. "Te amo, Lovi!"

"Don't say that!" Romano stormed, jerking out of his grasp. "Only say things like that if you _mean_ it, bastard!"

Antonio blinked. "Lo…vi?" His eyes widened in thought. "Lovi, do you love me?"

"Of…" Romano began to burn a deep, dark red. "Of course not, bastard! What the hell would give you that idea?!"

"Aw, Lovi, you do!" Antonio hugged him tightly to his chest. "Te amo, Lovi! I swear!"

Romano struggled to escape the tight grip, but was stopped suddenly by Antonio's lips on his. His eyes widened, and Antonio nipped at his bottom lip. He gasped in surprise, and Antonio took that opportunity to invade his mouth, tongue sliding over his teeth.

Romano moaned into the kiss, a noise that Antonio gladly swallowed.

Antonio's hands slid up Romano's sides, thumbs tracing small circles on his ribs.

They broke apart, and Romano gazed at Antonio with wonder-filled eyes. "Antonio…?"

"Te amo, Romano," Antonio said, directly meeting Romano's eyes. "Now, and forever…"

Romano hugged Antonio tightly, saying, "Ti amo, Toni. Ti amo!" A sudden idea popped into his head, and he grinned devilishly. He bit down on Antonio's neck, making the elder moan throatily.

"Ai, dios mio…" Antonio moaned, running his fingers through Romano's hair, unconsciously searching for that one, specific curl…  
Romano moaned, mouth going slack in pleasure, and Antonio lightly tugged on the curl.

"B-bastard…" Romano moaned, eyes fluttering shut. He licked at the mark on Antonio's neck hungrily, before biting again.

"Lovi…" Antonio mumbled. He stroked up and down Romano's sides, fingers whispering over silk-smooth skin. His fingers just barely dipped below the waist of Romano's jeans, and-

"Antonio! Romano!" Someone banged on the door roughly.

Antonio groaned, slumping. "Damn Frenchman…"

Romano stood up, noting absently that his shirt was unbuttoned, and marched over to the door. "What do you want?" He growled, jerking open the door.

Francis stared in shock at the rumpled looking Italian. "Erm…Romano? Is Toni in there?"

Antonio draped himself over Romano's lithe form possessively, wrapping his arms around his thin waist.

Francis blinked.

"Francis, go away," Antonio growled, nuzzling Romano's throat. "I might play with you and Gilly-Bird later."

Romano leaned back against Antonio, smirking faintly.

"Oui, time to go," Francis mumbled, turning away, "Have fun. Gilbert!" And he was gone, dragging the albino with him.

Antonio reached around Romano, closing the door, and led him back to the bed.

_2) A Crazy Little Thing Called Love:_

_ Keep it moving. Never let your love grow stale, or it'll start to get boring, and you'll both be more likely to be unfaithful. Keep it fresh, keep doing things._

"Oh, Lovi!" Antonio sang, pushing open their front door. "I'm home!"

"I'm in the kitchen," Romano said.

Antonio wrapped his arms around Romano's waist, nuzzling his neck. "Oh, Lovi! Te amo."

"Ti amo, Toni," Romano rolled his eyes. "Now get off me, bastard. I'm trying to clean."

"Aw, Lovi…" Antonio grumbled, but let him go, sitting down at the bar. "Happy birthday, Lovi!"

Lovi blinked. He'd forgotten about that…

"Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday!" Antonio grinned. "Dios mio, Lovi!"

"Shut up, bastard!" Romano grumbled, looking away. "I wasn't thinking about it."

Antonio smiled, "Ah, Lovi, will you go on a walk with me? Please?"

Romano glanced back at his lover, seeing his pleading expression, and sighed, slumping. "Fine…only for you, damn tomato bastard."

"Yay!" Antonio clapped his hands happily. He dashed off to their room, while Romano rinsed and dried his hands. He leaned against the counter, waiting for Antonio.

"Sorry, Lovi," Antonio apologized, reappearing from the bedroom, wearing his jacket, Romano's draped over his arm.

Romano shrugged, slipping into his jacket, allowing himself to be led from the house they now shared. They walked to the quaint little park nearby, hand in hand.

Antonio pulled Romano to him, tucking him under his arm, making the small Italian blush and mutter under his breath. Toni kissed Romano's forehead.

"Stop it," Romano muttered, nudging Antonio's ribs. "Bastard…"

"Te amo, Lovi," Antonio laughed, wrapping an arm tighter. He gently squeezed Romano's butt, making him squeak in embarrassed surprise.

"_Pervert!_" Romano exclaimed, smacking Antonio's chest. "Dirty minded fiend!"

"I don't have a dirty mind. I have a sexy imagination," Antonio retorted kindly, smirking.

Romano grumbled, looking down and away. "Damn tomato bastard…"

Antonio laughed lightly, ruffling Romano's hair.

The two walked together for a little bit, until they came to a small pond, where Antonio pulled them to a stop.

Antonio smiled, letting go of Romano and stepping away.

Romano glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, watching Antonio dig through his pockets. _'Probably looking for his cell phone,'_ Romano smirked mentally.

"Ah-ha!" Antonio cried triumphantly, pulling something out of his pocket that he deftly hid from Romano.

"What were you looking for?" Romano asked curiously, cocking his head to the side.

Antonio blushed, looking down. "I…have a question, Romano…"

Now Romano was worried. Antonio never, _ever_, called him Romano. It was rare when he called him 'Lovino' even. "Antonio?"

Antonio knelt in front of him, holding up the little black box. "Lovi…"

Romano's eyes widened hugely, and he stared at Antonio.

"Te amo, Lovi," Antonio said, flipping the box open, displaying the simple silver band, set with a single diamond. "Will you marry me?"

Romano simply stared, before breaking down, tears slipping from his eyes. "Yes, si, I'll marry you…"

Antonio stood up and hugged Romano, slipping the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, of course.

Romano rubbed at his eyes, muttering to himself. "I'm such a girl, it's ridiculous…"

Antonio smiled, pulling Romano into a bone-melting kiss, holding him tightly, hands intertwined.

_3) DON'T FORGET:_

_Never forget what got you to this place. Never forget why you fell in love._

_Never forget what makes you, you. And, most importantly, NEVER FORGET TO SAY I LOVE YOU TOO._

Romano flipped through the last couple pages of _The Guide to Insanity and Love_, a faint smile dusting his features.

He looked down at the silver ring glittering faintly on his finger. Antonio was out at a tuxedo fitting, and he was coming to pick him up in about a half-hour.

"Lovi!" Antonio sang, pushing open the door. "Te amo!"

"Ti amo, bastard," Romano rolled his eyes, quickly closing his notebook. He didn't want Antonio to see his vows before the wedding.

Antonio flopped on the couch next to him, picking up the book that was still on the coffee table. "Guide to Insanity?" Antonio asked curiously.

Romano shrugged. "It was an interesting read. And, technically, it's called _The Guide to Insanity and Love_."

"Oh?" Antonio flipped it open. "It's not very nice, is it?"

"It's called sarcasm, bastard," Romano rolled his eyes, smirking. "You get it from me all the time."

"I know, Lovi," Antonio leaned against his fiancé, wrapping his arms around his waist. He nuzzled into Romano's neck, nipping lightly.

"No, no, bastard," Romano tried to push him away vainly. "Not now…"

"But Lovi!" Antonio pouted, biting Romano's neck, making him twitch.

Romano sighed, "Fine, bastard." The notebook went flying in the general direction of the table, skimming across and falling onto the floor.

Romano held Antonio's hand tightly, feeling like he was about to faint. _And this is why I hate being the center of attention…_ he thought. _Just pretend that no one's looking at you. They're all looking at Antonio._

He took a deep breath, looking up at Antonio, who was watching him with an expression of complete adoration and love. Romano could feel himself starting to smile.

"Antonio?" The Justice of the Peace asked, looking at him.

He nodded, looking at Romano intensely. "Lovi, te amo! You are my one, my only, my everything. I swear to take care of you till the end of my days, until death do us part. I promise to never stop loving you. I know I may sometimes be…not smart, but I want to try to always understand you and cherish you. I want you by my side, forever and beyond. This I do swear."

Romano wiped away a tear, determined to not start crying. "Toni…Ti amo, I promise. I promise to never forget the first time I met you. I vow to never forget why I fell in love with you. I swear to always love you. I may be rude, a lot, but I would never hurt you. I thank you for being able to see past the complicated mess that is me, and for being able to love me. I want to stay by your side forever, if you'll let me. This I do swear."

Antonio smiled happily, allowing a few tears to slip down his face. "My Lovi…"

The Justice of the Peace smiled, clapping her hands. She tossed her long, curly brown hair behind her, saying, "And I now pronounce you husband and husband. Go ahead and kiss him."

Antonio leaned down and kissed Romano sweetly, eyes locked.

Romano reached for his hand, skimming down his arm, entwining their fingers together. His other hand wrapped around Toni's waist, pulling him closer.

"Aw…" Elizeveta sighed, "it's so cute…!"

Romano covertly flipped her off, not bothering to pull away from his romantic Spaniard.

**Guess what? I'm not done yet. I've still got a few more parts to go! There are many parts to this story, this is only the first one: Anger.**

** So! Je t'aime! Aurevoir! Until we meet again, mon cher!**


	3. Lust

"Oh, mon Angleterre!"

Arthur winced, staring resolutely down at his book, a tale of black magic, desperation, and love on the high seas.

"Are you in here?"

Maybe if he was quiet, the stupid Frenchman would go away and leave him alone. Thinking that thought, Arthur sank lower in his chair.

"Ah! Arthur!" Francis leaned over the back of his chair, ruffling the hair of the Englishman. "There you are!"

"Knock it off," Arthur scowled, swatting his hands away. "I'm not a dog, damn it!"

"Aw, but I just want to pet you all day!" Francis sang, twirling around the chair. "You'd be such a pretty puppy, Arthur!"

"I'm not a bloody dog!" Arthur contemplated throwing his book, but he knew he'd probably miss and end up breaking something important. It had happened before…

"I know," Francis dropped into Arthur's lap, making the shorter of the two gasp and stutter.

"F-fucking bastard! What the h-hell do you think y-you're doing?" Arthur tried to sound fierce, but ended up sounding like a beaten puppy, all quivery and shaky.

"I am enjoying my Englishman!" Francis smiled seductively, cupping Arthur's face with his hands.

"_I'm not __**your**__ bloody Englishman!_" Arthur yelled, shoving Francis off his lap forcefully. "Now get out of my house!"

Francis pouted, slinking out of the house. "Aurevoir, Arthur…" He started to say, but the door was slammed in his face. Francis stuffed his hands in the pockets of his favorite purple sweatshirt with the rabbit fur-lined hood that he wore _everywhere_, and slunk off down the street, scowling thoughtfully.

He passed by a figure with a distinctly familiar build, brown hair, and a singular curl that stuck out of the side of his head like it had a will of it's own.

"Roma?" Francis blinked at the Italian in confusion.

Said Italian froze mid-stride, turning to face the vaguely confused Frenchman with a forced smiled. "Si?"

"I thought you were on your honeymoon with Antonio?" Francis asked, cocking his head to the side.

"We just got back yesterday," Romano said guardedly, running a hand down the front of his military green jacket.

"Oh! Give my good wishes to Tonio, won't you?" Francis started to walk away again.

Romano had a sudden idea, glancing back at Arthur's door. He knew that Arthur already liked the Frenchman, very strongly, in fact, so…it'd probably be kinda pointless to give him _The Guide_. "Hey, Francy, hold on a sec," he reached for Francis's arm. He didn't know how the Frenchy felt about Arthur, because of how he flirted with anything that breathed and had legs, but, hey, it was worth a shot, right?

"Oui?" Francis glanced back at him.

"How much do you like reading?"

Francis blinked. That was the most random question that he had ever heard anyone ask. Well, except Veneciano. That kid could pop off the weirdest questions that had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

"Well, not as much as Arthur, but I suppose one could say I do," Francis shrugged, no idea where this was heading. "Why?"

In answer, Romano pressed a thin, brown paper wrapped package into his hands. "Try this one; it's a good read, very worth it. As long as you get past the sarcasm, anyway."

Francis blinked. "Erm…"

Romano patted his hand, turning away. "Ciao!" He skipped off down the street, feeling immensely lighter.

Francis stared after the normally bitchy brunette in confusion, then down at the package. He stared at it doubtfully, wondering if it was a bomb or something that would explode as soon as he pulled off the string.

He did so hesitantly, and, when nothing happened, unwrapped it, continuing on down the street.

"_Guide to Insanity_…?" Francis blinked, flipping open the book. He completely skipped past the first section, going straight to section two: labeled quite accurately for him as '_Lust_.'

"This should be interesting," Francis smirked, walking down the street, the book tucked under his arm.

_1) Objectivity_

_Alright. Something/someone's got you fixated. Right? What is it? Or, WHO is it, I should probably ask. But anyway, go figure it out, and then you can come back. Yeah?_

Francis tapped the cover of the book thoughtfully, his elegantly manicured nails making gentle clicking noises.

"Hm…I would say Arthur, but he's a twat, so he doesn't count…" Francis mused, dressed in a pair of obnoxious red yoga pants…and nothing else. "He can't even cook properly!"

The doorbell rang, startling him out of his reverie.

He went to the door, opening it, expecting to find a person, but instead he found a small envelope sitting on his doorstep. It was unmarked, but he presumed it was for himself, as it _had_ been sitting on his steps. He picked it up and opened it, pulling out the single sheet of creamy white paper.

A random thought crossed his mind that it might be a hex from Arthur, but he decided against that. Arthur wouldn't do that two weeks in a row, would he?

Last time, he'd had one bad hair day after another, and had almost nearly contemplated cutting it all off, it was such a hassle. Split-ends, fly-aways, and just pure unmanageable chaos for an entire _week_!

Thankfully, he'd persuaded himself to not cut his hair, and everything had returned to normal.

Francis unfolded the slip of paper, reading the short passage inside, written in size 12 Times New Roman font.

~_Francis_

_Would you meet me at noon, three days from now, at the west entrance to Queen Anne's Park? You have…no idea who I am, and I'd like it to stay that way, for now. Until then, anyway. Well, Francis, It pains me to admit it, but I think I've liked you…for a long while now. Until we meet again, Francis, come what may._

_~A Secret Admirer_

Francis giggled, clasping the letter to his chest. "Ohonhonhon! A secret admirer! Francis is loved!"

He wondered who it could be. Obviously, the letter writer knew Francis. The only people who knew where he lived were Gilbert, Antonio, Arthur, Yao, and Ludwig, and he _highly_ doubted any of them would send him a love letter.

Gilbert was straight, as far as he knew, and had no inclination of going the other way. Antonio was happily married, Arthur hated him with a _burning_ passion, Yao was…Yao, and Ludwig was as happily frolicking with Veneciano in the flowery fields of love.

Francis gagged a little on that thought, snorting. "Yeah, right, 'flowery fields of love,' my ass. Where the hell do I pull these phrases from, anyway?"

He shrugged, setting the letter on his bedside table, and returned to that book. Romano had been right, it was a good read, once you got past all the sarcasm and patronizing.

_2) Distance is Crucial_

_No, I'm not talking about football, or soccer, or whatever the hell it is you men are playing nowadays when you've nothing better to do. I'm talking about trying to alter your attraction to this particular object without breaking it or making you even crazier than you already are. Sounds easy, right? WRONG. Dead wrong. It's harder than you think. Especially if this object is a person. They're probably going to be curious as to why you're acting weird. I recommend ignoring that. Why? Just because._

Francis burst out laughing, smiling broadly. "Oh, oui, so true!" He shook his head at himself, just noting that he was talking to a _book_. "Oh, woe be me, talking to a book. How desperate must I be?" He rolled his eyes, setting the book down. "It is time I took a break, no?"

He wandered into the kitchen, rummaging around for a fluted glass and a bottle of his favorite wine.

"Oh Francey-Pants~!"

Francis twitched. Oh, how he hated that nickname. Despised it, in fact. But…the person calling him it? Not so much. It's difficult to hate one's younger sister, no matter how annoying she is.

"Please, cher, do not call me that," Francis said, turning to face the obnoxious young blonde that looked almost identical to himself.

"Call you what, Francey?" She asked innocently, hoisting herself up onto the counter, swinging her blue-fishnet-stocking clad legs merrily.

Francis leaned against the counter, pouring another glass and handing it to her. She loved wine as much as he did, in fact.

"Paris, why must you always show up at my home at the strangest of times?" Francis asked curiously, sipping at the wine.

"Well," Paris said, setting her glass down and hopping off the counter. She only came up to about Francis's collar. "I just got back from Arthur's house."

"I'll bet he appreciated that," Francis sighed. Arthur liked Paris about as much as he disliked Francis.

"Oh, oui!" Paris grinned secretively. "We had a very long talk about love, and all that stuff."

"Love?" Francis blinked. "Why love?"

Paris shrugged, "I think it was because he'd just finished one of his porn-with-a-plot books. I saw it on the table. Something about the black sea."

"Ah…" Francis nodded, looking down thoughtfully.

"He's cute, isn't he?" Paris said suddenly, pouring herself another glass of wine.

Francis nearly did a spit-take. He set the glass down gently, and turned to Paris. "Arthur? Him?! You think he's cute?! Way to rip my heart out, mon soeur!"

Paris shrugged. "Well he is. Even with his funny eyebrows. I wonder what he's like in b-"

"Don't you dare finish that thought," Francis growled, pale as new snow. "My mental sanity depends on it." It wasn't like he'd never imagined what Arthur would be like in bed, hell, he did it all the time! But to have his _younger sister_ pointing out things he already knew, but didn't want to really accept, was just too much for him to handle.

"Alright, alright," Paris laughed, draining her third glass. "I'm done," she leaned up on tiptoes, kissing Francis's bristly cheek. "Aurevoir, brother!"

"Adieu," Francis sighed, watching her leave the same way she'd come in: one of his back windows. "You could use the door, you know!"

"Oui," she shrugged, uncaring, contorting to fit through the tiny gap. "But I don't want to. So there."

Francis rolled his eyes, walking over to close the window she'd left open. Again. He thought about going to visit Arthur again, but…after yesterday? Probably not the most brilliant of ideas.

Arthur flipped through his new book absently, unable to focus. His thoughts kept straying to a certain Frenchman, making a dark blush rise on his cheeks.

"I…am an idiot," he declared, snapping the book shut after reading the same line three times in a row. "This has been established." He shook his head, self-derision-filled thoughts running rampant inside his head.

He sighed morosely, standing. It was time for a cup of tea.

"Oh, Arthur!"

"Paris?" Arthur glanced around for the petite blonde. "Back already?"

"Oui!" She smiled kindly, holding out a cup of hot tea and a tiny plate of those fancy French cakes he loved so much, but would never admit.

"How was Francis?" Arthur asked, sipping the absolutely perfect tea.

"Oh, you know," Paris rolled her eyes. "Francis was Francis: running around half-naked with a bottle of wine in one hand and Pierre on his shoulder."

"Sounds like him," Arthur nodded.

"He got a letter today," Paris glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "From a secret admirer."

Arthur paused momentarily, cup halfway to his lips. He continued on, saying, "Oh? When did he get it?" There was a faint, almost imperceptible tremble to his hand as he set down the teacup again.

"This morning," Paris said, snacking on one of the minicakes. "At least, I think so. It wasn't there yesterday, anyway." She glanced at him, "Did you have any thing to do with this, Arthur?"

"Of…of course not," Arthur shrugged innocently, smiling blandly.

"You wrote the letter, didn't you," Paris grinned.

"Shush!" Arthur flapped a hand at her, looking away. "Why would I do that? I mean, it's Francis!"

Paris was not fooled. In the slightest. Having lived with Francis her whole life, in France, she knew the signals of lying. "You're not fooling anyone." The fact that she already knew that Arthur _liked_ Francis, no matter how much he may put up a front of otherwise.

"I'm not trying to fool anyone," Arthur shrugged innocently. "What ever would make you say that, silly, silly child."

"Oi! I'm only three months younger than you!" Paris exclaimed, crossing her arms. "And that is _not_ getting you off the topic, mister!"

Arthur sighed, looking down. "So what if I did write the letter? It's not like he'd ever show up anyway. He thinks I'm just some freaky Englishman."

Paris squealed happily. "So you did write the letter!"

"So what?!" Arthur exclaimed, avoiding looking at her. "It's just… I'm just… I shouldn't even go…"

"What?" Paris exclaimed. "You can't do that! That's not fair!"

"Neither is life!" Arthur nearly yelled, pounding his fist on the table in anger.

Paris immediately pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back soothingly. "Arthur, Arthur, calm. Remember to breathe, remember to just let it all go…"

Arthur took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm…calm…" He sighed shakily, clenching his fists.

"Are you sure?" Paris asked, cupping his face.

"Yes," Arthur nodded, picking up his cup of tea, sipping it gently. "I'm sure…"

"Good," Paris nodded. "Now, we need to figure out what you're going to wear…"

Arthur nearly inhaled his tea. His eyes flew open, and he choked, swallowing, setting the cup down with a rattle. "_Excuse me?!_"

_3) Infatuation:_

_Isn't it an amazing thing? Aren't they, whoever 'they' might be, amazing, in their own special way? Doesn't it just make you tingle? In a good way, not a creepy way. Aren't they just perfect? Don't you just want to spend the rest of your life with them?_

Francis stared at the book in vague amazement. It was just _so_ accurate, it was almost scary!

But, of course, his Englishman probably thought he was a crazy twat whom he'd rather hang from the rafters then spend a week with.

Francis sighed.

And then shook himself. He was being depressed for no particular reason over a…unique, I suppose is the word, Englishman who was so far out of his league in wasn't even remotely entertaining.

"Wait," Francis told himself. "Am I actually mooning over that… freak of nature? That Iggybrows?!"

"Yes, yes you are!" Paris giggled, lounging across the back of the couch.

Francis jumped and spun, nearly falling in his shock. "Can you not show up like a _normal human being_?!"

"Course I can," Paris rolled her eyes. "It's just, I don't choose to. What's the good of training to be a ninja if you can't use it?" She rolled off the couch, landing neatly on her fingertips and toes. Today, she was clad in a black and white sailor suit, mainly black. On her feet were a pair of black sneakers covered in stars and moons.

"What are you, little Petre's elder gothic sister?" Francis mocked, flicking the cap off her head.

"No, I'm little Francis Bonnefoy's younger gothic sister," Paris shot back, laughing. She flopped the cap back on her head, fiddling with the pure white ribbons. "Anyway! You, mooning about our favorite Englishman. Tell."

"Nope," Francis shook his head.

"But…" Paris pouted. "Francy!"

"Not a chance," Francis shook his head, studiously avoiding looking at her.

"Please tell me?" Paris begged on her knees, tugging on his loose t-shirt's hem. "Pwease, brother?"

"Nope," Francis looked up and away, knowing that if he looked at her, even a little bit, all resolve would be lost and he'd spill everything. "Not gonna."

"Why not?" Paris pouted, sitting back, her arms crossed over her full chest.

"Because you don't need to know," Francis said, in a 'duh' tone.

Paris stuck out her bottom lip even farther. "But…Francis…you like Arthur, don't you?"

Francis paused, then blew her off in a typically French manner. "Who, me? Must be someone else you're thinking of. Like that annoying American boy."

"No, he's got a crush on Matthew," Paris said, leaning against the cupboard.

"Who?" Francis blinked at her.

"You know, Matthew," Paris looked at him. "You really don't remember?"

"Should I?" Francis cocked his head to the side.

"You only helped raise him for nearly ten years," Paris exclaimed, hands on her hips, looking up at him from the floor. "You really don't remember? Wow, you're dumber than I thought…"

Francis glared at her. "Rude~!"

"Whatever," Paris rolled her eyes, uncaring. "But anyway, back to Arthur. You like him~!"

"Do not," was Francis's immediate reply. "Can not, will not."

Paris wrinkled her nose in distaste at her elder brother's pig-headed stubbornness. "Fine then, frog." She stood, walking back to her favored entry point: one of the back windows that led out to the back garden. "At least think about it, and _then_ you can tell me no. Okay?"

"Oui, oui," Francis waved her away. "Could you at least take the door this time?" But she was already gone, skipping off to Kiku's house for a mid-afternoon sparring session.

Francis rolled his eyes, sighing, rubbing his temples in annoyance. "Why do I put up with her again? Oh, yeah, because she makes good wine." He flopped back down on his brilliant purple couch. "Now, what should I do today…?"

_3) Let's be Amazing:_

_Come on, you know it's true. You're amazing, right? Well duh, of course you are. But that doesn't mean that you have to be a snotty, know-it-all, annoying, obnoxious twat. Because then everyone, not least of all your fixation, will hate you and want you gone. So don't be annoying, even if it's what comes naturally._

Francis snickered, "I am not annoying!"

"Ve~ yes you are!"

"What the fuck!" Francis yelled, staring around.

"Ciao!" Feliciano peeped over edge of the couch, waving spastically.

"Why the fuck do you people keep coming over?!" Francis exclaimed, sitting up with a snap.

"Because it's fun!" Feliciano grinned, clapping his hands.

"Who are you here with?" Francis sighed, looking behind Feliciano at the other Italian, crossing his arms and leaning up against the doorframe, and the Spaniard.

"Ah, Toni!" Francis chuckled, standing. "Long time no see, mon cher!"

Toni and Francis hugged, patting each other's back.

Romano rolled his eyes, sitting down on Francis's soft purple couch. He, predictably, did not want to be at the perverted wine-bastard's house. Never did, never would. He spied the thin green book on the table, and his lips curled into a smirk. Obviously, by the bookmark in it, Francis was reading it.

_4) Obviously_

_It's not called 'fixation', it's called LOVE. Got that through your thick skull yet? You should. I mean, I'll bet everyone you know has already figure it out, and probably giving you a couple not-so-subtle hints, right? Sooooo…tell them, and tell them ASAP._

Francis set the book down, a little numb. "I…" He never realized how intensely he felt for his little British companion. Something…he never wanted to admit until now, really. He wandered back to his room, getting dressed for his jaunt to Queen Anne's Park. He would probably tell the 'secret admirer' that he could never love him.

He wondered absently where Paris was.

"You're not honestly expecting me to go through with this, are you?" Arthur asked guardedly, staring at Paris, digging through his closets.

"Holy heck, you actually own a pair of skinny jeans?!" Paris exclaimed, pulling out the pair of bleached, splatter-patter painted skinny jeans.

"Erm…" Arthur blushed bright red, looking down. "Ah, well, you see…"

Paris pulled a ticket out of one of the back pockets. "A…" She blinked, doing a double take. "Dude! I wanted to go to this concert soooo bad!"

Arthur toed the ground awkwardly, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. "I, uh, well, I… Erm, I…"

Paris giggled, tossing the pants on the bed.

"I am not wearing those," Arthur said adamantly, crossing his arms resolutely. "No way in bloody hell."

"But, Arthur…" Paris pouted, pushing out her lower lip. "Please?" Her eyes glistened with crocodile tears.

"No!" Arthur turned away. "I said no, I mean no, I am sticking with no!"

Paris sighed, turning away. "_Fiiiine_…be a buttmuncher, buttmunch."

"I beg your pardon!" Arthur fumed. "I refuse to be called such a derogatory title!"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Paris kissed his cheek, setting a pair of khakis and a dark green t-shirt on the bed beside him. "Is this acceptable, your highness?"

Arthur looked at the clothing for a long, silent moment, before nodding. "Yes, I suppose it will do…"

"I suppose," Paris mocked. "Now, go take a shower and get dressed. Hurry the hell up!"  
"You spend far too long hanging about with that obnoxious American," Arthur sniffed, going into the bathroom to shower.

"And your point is…?" Paris blinked, shrugging.

Francis wandered down the street to Queen Anne's Park, tugging on the sleeves of his favorite dark purple sweatshirt. He was wearing a pair of obnoxious red skinny jeans and a light sky blue t-shirt.

He spied, much to his shock, a familiar figure with darker blonde hair, wearing a pair of khakis and a dark green t-shirt.

"Arthur?"

The figure spun to face Francis, and a dark blush spread across his cheeks. He looked down, biting his lip, toeing the ground nervously. "H-hello…"

"Bonjour," Francis walked forward slowly, standing in front of Arthur. "You were the one who sent the note?"

Arthur blushed darkly, looking down. "Er…yeah… You know what, I should just go…"

"Aucune!" Francis exclaimed, pulling Arthur back forcefully. He hugged the Englishman tightly, tucking him under his chin. "Ah, mon amour, mon amour… Je t'aime, Arthur…"

"I have no idea what that means," Arthur said, blushing darkly, looking down.

In answer, Francis pulled Arthur around so they were facing. He kissed him intensely, looking Arthur directly in the eyes.

Arthur, after recovering sufficiently from his shock, kissed him back, arms winding around Francis's neck.

Francis pulled back after a long, breathless kiss, his arms wrapped tightly about Arthur's waist. "Je t'aime…means…I love you…"

Arthur blushed, looking down, mumbling something into Francis's chest.

"What was that, mon amour?" Francis gently forced Arthur to look up, kissing his forehead gently.

"…Love you…too…" Arthur blushed, ducking back into Francis's chest. "Oh, I am so embarrassed…"

"Embrassement, amour," Francis laughed.

"I don't speak French, damn f-Francis…" Arthur grumbled, poking Francis's chest.

"Yet," Francis chuckled, pulling Arthur back up into a sweet, bone-melting kiss.

_PART II: Solving Your Real Problem_

_1) Whore_

_Now that you're taken, you're no longer allowed to be a whore. Yes, I'm sure you're saying 'What? But I'm not a whore!' Know what? I don't believe you. Matter of fact, no one else does either. And I'm sure your new partner doesn't appreciate you flirting with anyone and anything that breathes._

Francis pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to Arthur's temple, leaning over the back of the couch. "Whatcha reading, mon amour?"

"_Again too Soon_, by Zero Live," Arthur said, showing him the cover. "It's actually quite good."

"Zero…Live…?" Francis questioned, unsure if he'd heard right.

"Yes," Arthur nodded, looking up at him. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Francis shrugged. "I've just heard the name somewhere before, is all…"

"Oh…" Arthur blinked. "Okay then," he shrugged.

"Je t'aime," Francis kissed Arthur deeply. He edged around the chair, pulling Arthur closer to him.

"Love you too…" Arthur huffed, pushing lightly at Francis's chest. "No, Francis, not now…"

"But why not?" Francis pouted, tracing Arthur's cheek.

"Because…" Arthur searched for a reason. "Because these are my good couches."

"Well, if that's the only problem," Francis smirked, picking Arthur up.

Arthur's legs wrapped unconsciously around Francis's waist unconsciously. "Hey…" he dropped his book, and it thudded gently on the wood floors. "F-Francis…"

Francis kissed Arthur's neck, nipping lightly. He nuzzled against him, and Arthur arched against him.

"D-damn it…Francis…" Arthur gasped, fisting Francis's shirt unconsciously.

_2) Fidelity_

_You gotta be faithful. Or, at the very least, if you're bored of them now, break it off honestly. Otherwise you'll just break a heart, and no one wants that._

"Arthur~!" Francis sang, pushing open the door to the study, a tea tray balanced on his hand.

"I'm over here," Arthur called, followed by a cough and a mutter that sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, bloody fucking dust!"

Francis laughed, striding over. He found Arthur kneeling amid piles of books, covered in dust. "Ah, bonjour cher! Doing some spring cleaning?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Arthur shrugged, looking up at him.

Francis smiled sweetly, "I brought you some tea, cher. Time to take a break, non?"

"Yes," Arthur stood, stretching, dusting off his hands. He coughed, sending up a cloud of dust. He blinked, then reached for the cup that Francis was holding out to him. "Thank you, Francis."

"Anytime, cher," Francis kissed Arthur's cheek. "How's it going?"

"Dusty," Arthur grumbled, sipping his tea, looking down at the piles of books. He swiped a hand across his sweaty brow, leaving a dark streak.

"Non, really?" Francis teased, ruffling Arthur's hair.

"Shut up, frog," Arthur scowled at him. "Or I'm going to make you clean your damn study yourself."

"Ai, no, no, no~!" Francis shook his head. "I could never be as good as you at cleaning, amour!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, setting the now empty cup down on the tray.

Francis tapped his lip thoughtfully, watching Arthur's derriere appreciatively. "Mon Arthur, don't forget about our date tonight!"

"As if," Arthur snorted, setting down another stack of books with a thump, sending up a cloud of dust. He coughed, waving it away irritably. "Damn dust…"

Francis laughed, blowing him a kiss. In his bedroom, he set the light gray ring box on his bedside table, running his fingers over the cover lovingly. "Je t'aime, Arthur…"

***/\~/\***

**AH-HA! It's finally done! Took me long enough, right?**

**But~ Anyway, I digress.**

**I think.**

**I don't remember…**

**What was I talking about again?**


	4. Gluttony

Matthew gazed down at the slim black book that his elder brother, Francis, had given him randomly (along with a raunchy wink and a suggestive smirk).

"'Guide to Insanity,' eh?" he asked no one in particular.

"Hey, dude, Mattie!" Alfred F, Jones -typical teenage American boy (despite being in his early twenties) and self-proclaimed hero-extraordinaire- threw open his Canadian roommate's bedroom door and breezed in, flopping dramatically onto the bed.

"Hm?" Matthew mumbled in vague semi-interest, flipping through the book and pretending to be busy.

"I-!" Alfred pointed one finger up into the air, followed by his torso, then froze and blinked confusedly. "Csh, uh…" Chuckling, he scrunched his nose cutely and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "I, uh, don't remember…?"

"Figures," the Canadian sighed in annoyance. "Whatever…" he glanced at his watch and set the book down on the desk. "Tell me if you remember when I get back, okay Al? I gotta run; Ivan and I are going out tonight."

The older blonde groaned, flopping back down onto the bed. "Ugh, another date with the with the creepy Russian dude? _Seriously_?"

"Who I choose too date is none of your business," Matthew snipped tightly, standing. He walked past Alfred to his closet, reaching in and pulling on his favorite tan jacket. He snatched his motorcycle helmet and marched to the door, standing there and tapping his foot with no small degree of impatience.

Lower lip pushed out in a deep pout, Alfred slunk from the room, but not before imparting a few final words while Matthew stalked to the door.

"Please be careful, Mattie. I don't trust him."

"You say that about everyone I date," Matthew sighed. "You're only my roommate, Alfred, you can't tell me what to do with my life. Why don't _you _go out and get a girlfriend? Now _there's _a _great _idea, eh?" He slammed the door behind himself, huffing angrily all the way to his motorcycle.

Alfred pouted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Not a girlfriend…" He slinked into Matthew's room and flopped on the bed, curling around the Canadian's pillow, inhaling and enjoying the maple-y scent he loved so much. "I remember what I wanted to say now, Matt. I'm…gay." He chuckle morosely, burying his nose in the pillow. "Just figured it out this afternoon…at the club."

_~Flashback~_

The music pounded in Alfred's ears, so loud he could barely think. After adjusting his tie -one of the few things he still wore- he bent over to take another order.

"I'll take you, sugar," the man smirked, grabbing his tie and pulling him down until they were almost nose-to-nose. He had short white hair, spiked straight up, and acid green eyes. "I'll take you to go."

Alfred had simply gulped, lost in those intense green eyes. "I… Uh, sorry, I'm, uh, already t-taken for the n-night…" He was suddenly having issues breathing, overwhelmed by the delicious scent wafting off of the man.

He pouted, pursing naturally ruby-red lips. "Such an honest shame, darling… Nn, perhaps I'll have to come back on a night you're free." He released Alfred, but not before planting a kiss to his cheek.

Alfred wandered away, dazed.

Someone else would have to get that table; the blonde was too caught up in his own thoughts.

He recognized the feeling burning through his veins: Lust. Not something he'd ever expected to feel towards another man…

_~Flash-Forward~_

Alfred sighed again, sitting up. He thought, _I seem to be sighing a lot today…_

Standing, his eyes caught on something that seemed weirdly out of place in the perfectly neat and orderly room. He picked up the book curiously, careful to keep the place.

"Guide to Insanity?" Alfred questioned, flipping to where Matthew had been reading. "Gluttony…?" Sitting down in the supremely comfortable desk chair -thank you IKEA- he began to read.

_~LESSON ONE_

_Can you never get enough? Are you becoming addicted to it? Is every little second away like thousands of tiny burning needles spearing your heart? Why? And more importantly, to what? (Or, should I say, to whom?) I'd figure this out before you go a single step -sentence -whatever further!_

Matthew parked in front of Ivan's home, humming faintly.

"Ah, little Matvey!" Ivan grinned brightly upon sight of his favorite Canadian. "You are late, you know," he reprimanded gently, tapping Matthew's nose lightly.

"I know, I know," Matthew grinned also. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I was… held up."

Ivan looked askance at him. "Is that little American boy bothering you still? My offer still stands to take care of him, Matvey."

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Matthew shook his head vehemently, shuddering internally. He knew what Ivan's 'taking care of' was like, and it was… illegal, to say the least. Sometimes he may get annoyed by Alfred and want to punch his lights out, but killing is an entirely different story.

"Not even put him out of commission for a little bit?" Ivan asked innocently, pulling Matthew's coat off and placing it tenderly in the closet.

"No, Ivan," Matthew shook his head with a smirk.

The Russian sighed dramatically, a faint smile curling his lips. "So… that means no breaking of the kneecaps, huh."

Matthew laughed.

_2) Glutton for Punishment_

_This section should be self explanatory, right? Right. Duh. Glutton for punishment means, basically -in this book, anyway- that you keep going back to something/one, even though it/they keep harming you. Over…and over…and over… So why do you keep going back?_

_What makes it worth it?_

Alfred sat back heavily in his chair, the book falling to his lap, and he stared off into space thoughtfully.

"What makes…it worth it…?" he asked himself, standing and wandering into the kitchen. After all this thinking, he really needed a hamburger.

"What makes it worth it?" The blonde all-American boy asked himself again, flopping down onto the couch. He yawned slightly, slipping off his glasses. "Mm. think in morning…"

~/\~

Matthew watched the platinum-haired male interact animatedly with a buxom red-haired woman across the square.

They both were laughing, hands linked together.

"…Seems Ivan forgot I work here," he growled tightly, filling his eyes fill with tears. He knew he wasn't Ivan's only one, not by a long shot, but for the Russian to flaunt his other partners so brashly? It was heart-breaking, really.

The Canadian refocused on the thick book clutched tightly in his hands, scanning down the page again. He would deal with Ivan and his girlfriend(s) later.

_3) Crazy Little Thing_

_Call it like it is, darling. Call it love._

Alfred threw his head back and laughed; laughed so hard tears were rolling down his face and he was sobbing for breath.

~/\~

Alfred jerked awake when the front door flew open, crashing into the wall with a loud bang. He stared between his watch and the irate, furious, frustrated Canadian. "Mm…Mattie?"

"Shut the _hell _up, bastard," Matthew snapped, flinging his keys at him. "I don't want to hear a single word from your mouth, Alfred, okay?" He struggled with his coat for a long moment, fingers shaking with angry energy, before releasing a loud sob and sinking to his knees, face held in his hands. His jacket hung off one shoulder, held half-closed by a few buttons and a stuck zipper. "God damn it, I'm so stupid…!"

"Matt…ie?" Alfred ventured nervously, rising to his feet. He'd never seen Matthew like this, in the several years he'd known him (and the five years they'd lived together).

"_Shut up_!" Matthew spat, staring up at him with burning, glistening violet-blue eyes. "Are you happy now, Alfred? _Are _you? Now you can say 'I told you so' to your heart's content."

Alfred chewed his lip anxiously, walking to the Canadian with his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. "Matt…?" Why was Matthew so late getting home from work? It was almost midnight; he should have been home several hours ago.

"Oh, god, why did I ever listen to him?" Matthew sobbed, collapsing into a boneless heap. "I'm so stupid!"

Alfred now went from shocked and confused to confused and angry. Someone had hurt his- erm, someone had hurt Matthew. He tossed the book onto the couch uncaringly and walked over to him, crouching and placing a tender hand on his back. "What happened, Matt?"

"He-" Matthew gulped, turning his head to the side so he could breath better. "I-I knew he had other people," he choked out, allowing Alfred to pick him up and set him lovingly on the couch, like he were a priceless statue made of thin glass.

Alfred's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything, just slipped into the kitchen.

Burying his face in his hands, Matthew released another muffled sob. "I saw h-him and one of th-them -a pretty r-redhead- right after l-lunch… I saw at work; the b-bastard came to my work with his s-stupid girlfriend and acted like he didn't even know me!" He cursed and slammed his fist down on the coffee table, making it release an ominous cracking sound.

The American returned from the kitchen bearing a big mug of Earl Grey tea with maple syrup. Still not saying a thing, he handed it over and sat down, rubbing Matthew's back.

After a long sip -where Matthew savored the burning on his tongue- the Canadian turned his head to look at Alfred. "What? Not going to say anything about my terrible choices?" he asked bitterly.

"No," Alfred shook his head. "I'm not going to say anything because I know you're hurting, and I'm not one to kick an man when he's down." _Unless he deserves it, of course. Like some certain Russian I despise…_ It took all his will to force himself not to smirk knowingly.

Fresh, glad tears filled Matthew's eyes; how could he have ever doubted his best friend? "Thanks, Al…" He sipped on his tea.

"Don't worry about it, Mattie," Alfred shrugged. "Now finish your tea and let's get you off to bed, hm?"

Nodding, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Matthew drained the mug in one gulp and followed Alfred into his bedroom. He allowed himself to be helped into warm, fuzzy pajamas and tucked into bed, the comforter pulled up to his chin.

After removing Matthew's glasses and setting them on the bedside table, Alfred kissed his forehead and left, flipping off the light. "G'night, Mattie. Sleep well."

"Night Alfie," Matthew yawned, "see you in the morning." He wondered when his roommate had gotten so sweet. Squirming to lay on his side, he cuddled his pillow closer. It smelled a little different than usual; a little like gunpowder and blood.

"Mm," Alfred nodded, closing the door fully in perfect silence. "At least," he mused to himself, "assuming I don't get arrested for murder by morning." He chuckled dryly at his own half-joke and went to his bathroom, changing out 'Texas' for a pair of contact lenses. He grabbed New York and San Francisco -his set of matching brass knuckles- from the leather case tucked under his bed. Tucking them into an inside pocket on one of his lesser-used leather jackets, he slipped silently out the front door, sure to lock it behind himself.

Matthew awoke to the sound of frying bacon and…pancakes? Since when did anyone else in that house make pancakes? Since when did anyone in the house even _cook_?

Wandering out into the kitchen, he was confronted by the supremely shocking sight of Alfred cooking.

"What are you doing?" the younger blonde yawned, stretching and rubbing his eyes. He noted absently that he'd been changed into his favorite pair of pajamas, when he distinctly did not remember doing it himself.

Alfred jumped, looking at him quickly out of the corner of his left eye. He was fully dressed and his hair was still damp from a recent shower. "Cooking; what's it look like, Matt?"

Glancing at the clock over his stove, Matthew cocked one eyebrow. "At seven-fifteen in the morning? I didn't even know you could get up before noon…"

"I actually never went to sleep," Alfred remarked with false gaiety, taking a deep sip from a coffee cup nearby.

That was when Matthew noticed the thick layer of bandages covering his knuckles -on both hands, even!

"Mon dieu!" Matthew exclaimed, dashing over. "Christ, Alfred! What did you do to your hands?!" He fretted, hands hovering over the outstretched limb as if he was afraid to touch it. "Pick a fight with a brick wall?" He turned Alfred to face him and frowned at the collection of cuts and bruises gathered there. "Ugh, and lose it, too?"

"…Not a brick wall, no," Alfred shook his head, pulling away gently. "If you think I'm bad, you should see the other guy."

Examining him closely, Matthew could see he wasn't kidding. "Oh, Alfred," he moaned, "what have you done? Was it someone I know?" _Please say no, please say no, please say no…_

"Uhm, yeah…" Alfred looked away guiltily, poking at the bacon frying in the pan dully.

"Who was it?" Matthew demanded, crossing his arms.

Alfred didn't answer, flipping a pancake in another pan over with a neat flick of his wrist.

"Alfred, tell me!" Matthew hung on his arm, but Alfred still didn't answer. "Was it…Vash?"

"No. I'd be full of bullet holes if it was."

"…True," Matthew scowled, leaning against the counter. He suppressed a yawn. "Yao?"

"Nope."

"Ludwig?"

Alfred snorted, "no."

"…Mm, Berwald?"

"The guy could probably snap me in half and not even break a sweat," Alfred chuckled dryly, slipping the pancake off the pan and pouring in more batter.

"I think you underestimate yourself," Matthew murmured, crossing his arms and chewing his lip. "Was it that Cuban guy whose name I can't remember who used to beat me up a lot?"

"Nah, I haven't hit him since he's hit you." And then Alfred winced, realizing he'd said something he most likely shouldn't have. Sneaking a look at Matthew, he realized the other probably hadn't heard anything past 'Nah.'

"Matthias?"

"He's my friend."

"So nope. Sadiq?"

Alfred turned a curious eye on his roommate. "Who?"

Matthew's nose wrinkled. "Turkish fellow; kind of a creep. Seems like someone you'd think deserved a good beating."

"Ah. Mkay. No."

"Hm…" Matthew tapped his lip thoughtfully. "Was it… Arthur's brother? The one who lives in Australia with the pet koala?"

Alfred stared at him. "Dude, seriously? Artie has a brother who lives in Australia? Who has a pet _koala_?"

"Yes…" Matthew sighed. "You've even met him once of twice."

"Nuh-uh," Alfred shook his head disbelievingly. "I'd remember if I met a guy from Australia with a pet koala who had iggybrows."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Whatever, idiot…"

"Shut up," Alfred whacked his arm lightly. "I'm making you breakfast; you could at least be polite."

"Eh," Matthew shrugged. He was at a near loss for names. That is, all except for one…

"Was it…Ivan…?"

All the gaiety whooshed out of Alfred, who slumped. "Do you really want me to answer that, Matt?"

Matthew's eyes widened. "It was, wasn't it." It wasn't even a question.

Silence was the only answer he got, but silence was the only answer he really needed.

"Alfred! Why? Why would you do that?" Matthew exclaimed, grabbing the shorter blonde's shoulders to try to jerk him around. "He could have killed you! You could get arrested for that, you know!"

Easily slipping from his grasp, Alfred didn't answer, just set the pan on a cold burner and turned off the one he'd been using. He wiped his hands on a towel before turning to look at Matthew.

"Why?" he asked quietly, finally meeting Matthew's eyes fully for the first time all morning. His face looked even more abused full-on. "You really want to know why, Matt?"

"Yeah, I do," Matthew nodded determinedly.

Alfred gripped Matthew's hips and pulled them together, locking an arm around his back and pressing their lips together in an obviously well-practiced maneuver.

"'Cause I love you, Matthew," Alfred whispered into the Canadian's ear. "And I'd do anything for you; to make you happy."

He released Matthew and turned back towards the plate piled high with pancakes. "Four or five?"

Matthew blinked confusedly, lost in the whirl and shuffle of the last few moments. "But…thought…straight…? _Eh?!_"

"Matthew, do you know where I work?" Alfred asked chattily, forking four of the hot cakes onto a plate.

"A club; why?"

"Technically, I work in a gay strip club," Alfred responded easily, like he hadn't just totally thrown his best friend for a loop. He twisted open the cap of Matthew's favorite maple syrup and drenched the pancakes, just the way the Canadian liked them. "I'm a waiter -you should see the uniform. Totally smexy. Anyway," he chuckled lightly, shrugging. "I've wanted to work in a place like it since I was 17."

"Why?" Matthew asked incredulously. The pay in places like that were notoriously terrible. "And what does that have to do with anything?"

"I'd just never accepted why," Alfred continued, as if Matthew hadn't said anything at all. He handed the plate of four pancakes and a fork to his roommate. "At least, until just recently. I'm gay, Matt."

Matthew stared at the man in shock, plate almost dropping from suddenly numb fingers.

He stared at the man who, for _years _-practically since he knew what sex _was_- had adamantly insisted that he was perfectly arrow-straight. (Which Matthew always thought was a terrible comparison, since arrows bent when they were shot.) "Ch-ah-uh-nn-naw…"

"Yup," Alfred laughed amusedly.

"Straight as an arrow, eh," Matthew muttered, narrowing his eyes. "I always knew you weren't."

"Uh-huh," Alfred nodded and rolled his eyes. "Whatever; now, are you going to eat those, or am I going to have to do it for you?" He suddenly wielded a fork threateningly.

Lips pursed in a dramatic pout, Matthew huddled protectively over his plate of pancakes. "You wouldn't dare…"

"Hey, I made them," Alfred smirked, stepping closer. His fork crept forward ominously. "I have as many rights to them as you."

Matthew stuck his tongue out and scurried away, sitting down at the bar counter. He stabbed his fork in the top pancake, cutting it into smaller pieces, and took a testing bite. "Not bad…for an American."

Alfred rolled his eyes, taking a bite of the bacon he'd made.

"Hey, Mattie."

Said Canadian looked up from the last of his pancakes to be met with a pair of vibrant blue eyes mere inches from his own. "Y-yeah…?"

Alfred leaned in and stole another kiss, one hand reaching to cup the back of Matthew's head.

"I meant what I said," Alfred murmured, staring deep into Matthew's eyes.

The Dr. Seuss line ran through Matthew's head: _I meant what I said and I said what I meant; and elephant's faithful one-hundred percent…_

"I love you, Matt," Alfred continued seriously, stroking his hand over Matthew's narrow cheekbone. "I'd really do anything for you; you don't even have to love me back."

In answer, Matthew pushed his plate of pancakes aside and wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, whispering back, "Don't even have to love you back, eh?" He rolled his eyes, "I think I've loved you ever since I first met you -when you first rescued me from Carlos when we were 15 years old. I just feel stupid for taking this long to realize it." And with that, the Canadian pulled the American closer to himself, almost over the narrow countertop, and sealed their lips together.

_PART II: 1) Glutton For Life_

_I recommend taking a gastronomical tour of the world (or even just Europe (or even just your local area)). Gastronomical, by the way, means food-centric, I think (I wouldn't take my word on that). Or whatever; what I'm really just trying to say is get out there and live a little. Be a glutton of life; soak it up._

"What's this called again?" Alfred asked curiously, poking at the mound of food about ready to fall out of his bowl, there was so much.

"It's called poutain," Matthew said, digging in eagerly. "A Canadian staple. Like those cow-burger things you're always eating, eh?"

"You mean a hamburger?" Alfred asked with a twinkle in his eye, poking the mound warily.

"Oui!" Matthew nodded. "Which I still don't get: why is it called a hamburger if there's no ham? Why not call it a… a beefburger or something like that?"

Alfred shrugged, finally steeling himself to take a bite of the gravy- and cheese-covered fries. "It's…not bad…" he said thoughtfully.

"You think I'd force you to eat something nasty?" Matthew asked, aghast, a look of mock innocence in his eyes.

"You mean like that fish-egg stuff last week in France?" Alfred's nose wrinkled in disgust.

Matthew shrugged sweetly, eyes scrunching up happily behind his glasses.

"These last few months have been awesome, Al," Matthew sighed happily, embracing the older (yet slightly shorter) male. "I feel like such a girl when I say that, but it's true."

Alfred laughed lightly, taking Matthew's hand and winding their fingers together. "Heh, yeah, I love you too."

Matthew pulled the light blue box from his red sweatshirt pocket, holding it our thoughtfully.

Alfred's eyes opened impossibly wide.

"Alfred," Matthew began softly, popping open the baby blue box with one hand. Inside was a simple silver band, set with three small gems the exact color of Alfred's eyes. "Will…you marry me?"

"I-" Alfred blinked rapidly, tearing up. "I-uh…" he started blushing heatedly, and nodded rapidly. "Yes! Yes, I will."

"Thank you," Matthew chuckled slightly, sweeping Alfred into a romantic kiss.


	5. Pride

"Hey, Mattie!"

The Canadian turned curiously, to see the obnoxious 'Prussian' man waving at him vehemently.

The albino jogged up to him, and asked, "I hear you got engaged?" His red eyes twinkled merrily.

"Oui," Matthew nodded, shifting a brown paper-wrapped package held under his arm. "Al and I are planning on getting married in Cali next month, then again in Toronto a little after that."

"Congrats, man," Gilbert smirked, ruffling his favorite Canadian's hair lovingly. "Oh, also, I hear you wanted to see me?"

"Oh!" Matthew's eyes widened. "Ah, duh!" he handed the package under his arm to Gilbert. "Here; I think you could use this, Gilly. It's been of a great use to me. Well, to us, really."

"Matt! Come on, babe, our taxi is about to leave!" Alfred yelled from down the steps, a hand on the open back door of the yellow cab.

"Coming!" Matthew called, lifting one hand. Turning back to Gilbert, he said, "You may not believe me, but read it through. Please?"

How could Gilbert possibly say no to the man he considered to be another younger brother? "Fine," he sighed, tucking the thin book into one of the huge pockets on his black leather jacket. "Whatever…"

"Yay!" Matthew grinned brightly and clapped his hands, spinning away. "Merci, Gilbert! Au revoir, mon ami!" He skipped lightly down the steps and slid into the waiting taxi. Alfred waved to Gilbert, followed his fiancé, and they drove away.

"What a coincidence," Gilbert mused, tapping his lip, "that we happened to be in the same place at the same time." He suspected it had something to do with the groceries that his brother had coerced (read: bribed and threatened) him into getting that they didn't need. But then he shrugged it off uncaringly and turned for home, shifting the paper bag higher on his hip.

Gilbert lounged in the back garden, enjoying the oddly sunny day, when a woman with long, curling brown hair strode up arrogantly, dropping something into his lap.

Elizaveta towered over him, hands on his hips. "I may not particularly like you, but I wouldn't wish a sunburn on my worst enemy; _especially _not someone with your complexion."

Glancing down, Gilbert stared between the brand new bottle of sunscreen and the Hungarian woman. "You're kidding me, right?"

"You're going to put some on," Elizaveta's eyes narrowed dangerously, "or I am going to tie you to a stake and coat you myself. And don't you date believe I wouldn't."

"Where would you find a stake at?" Gilbert asked haughtily, cocking an eyebrow.

Elizaveta motioned to the open-air pavilion in the center of the ring of five houses. "Those columns would be just the right width to tie you to, don't you think?" She grinned darkly, "now, would you like to do this the easy way, or…?"

Muttering curses under his breath, Gilbert popped the cap off and and squirted some of the thick cream onto his fingers. "Blecht," he scowled, rubbing it on his arms. "I still hate the feel of this stuff."

"Don't forget your neck, collarbones, and the tops of your ears, as well as your face," Elizaveta reminded him, striding away imperiously.

Gilbert stuck his tongue out at her, but grudgingly did as told. He knew how much is sucked to have a sunburn. Especially on one's face. And super especially with his skin type.

After finishing and with a grumble of, "stupid albino-ness," Gilbert slipped on his wrap-around Ray-Ban shades.

"Gilbert."

Oh, would he never get a moments rest?

"What?" Gilbert snapped, glaring at the speaker with no small amount of irritation.

"Have you seen Elizaveta?" It was Roderich, looking mighty peculiar without his glasses.

"Yup," Gilbert nodded. "And where's your specs, Speks? You look weird."

Roderich scowled at him, "Elizaveta has stolen them and I need them for my performance tonight."

"Why?" Gilbert questioned curiously. "Seems like you can see just fine without them."

"Well, yes, but that's not the point," Roderich groused, crossing his arms.

"What, you insecure without them?" Gilbert mocked, peering over the Austrian over the tops of his sunglasses.

"No," Roderich snapped, incensed. "They're more for…good luck."

Gilbert nodded disbelievingly, then pointed after Elizaveta. "She went that way; you only just missed her."

"Thank you," Roderich dropped a shallow bow before scurrying away.

"You left that package you said Matthew gave you on the counter," Ludwig said, not looking at Gilbert as the albino came inside. "I placed it on your bed downstairs."

"Danke," Gilbert grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.

"Oh, and, Brüder, don't forget, we have that orchestra performance to go to later tonight," Ludwig added absently.

Gilbert froze. "What…performance?"

"The one after the meeting."

"_What _meeting?!"

"The one you will not be attending," Ludwig supplied easily, "due to your severe and debilitating fear of being around large groups of people for long periods of time, when you have no option of how to get out."

Gilbert blinked confusedly. "What…? Since when do I suffer from this fear?"

"Since as long as you don't want to actually run this company," Ludwig said, glancing up at him. "You always say you hate being responsible, ja?"

Gilbert blinked at his younger brother some more. "You, my darling brüder, are an evil genius."

"Danke," Ludwig nodded uncaringly. The faintest hint of a smile curled the corner of his normally unsmiling lips. "Now shoo; I have important paperwork to take care of."

Gilbert knew that was a lie -if Ludwig really did have paperwork, he would do it in his office- but shrugged and disappeared into his 'basement lair,' as he liked to call it. It's not that he couldn't afford to live on his own -far from it in fact- he just liked to hang around and annoy Ludwig. (And Romano and Roderich and Elizaveta, too.) And besides, it was so much easier, cause he never had to actually do anything. Like, you know, buy groceries or pay bills or stupid stuff like that.

Picking up the package from his bed, Gilbert ripped off the brown paper and tossed the waste into the nearby garbage can, curious to see what Matthew was so eager to give him.

"'_Guide to Insanity_'…something-something?" Gilbert questioned, tapping the cover with his fingernails. Opening it to where a yellow Post-It bookmark resided, he read the little note.

'_Gil -try this section on for size. We think it'd suit you. ~Matt & Al'_

"…Pride?" Gilbert cocked an eyebrow, flopping down onto his bed. "Yeah, that probably is my worst sin. Pride and perhaps…Lust…"

_1) Pride Cometh Before The Fall_

_Now, I love being proud. It's my favorite of the seven Deadly Sins. That and Sloth… But, anyway, that's totally unimportant. What _is_ important is for you to be just a _little_ bit more humble, so you can see the world around you as it truly is; not through tinted glasses._

Gilbert fiddled with his shirt cuffs, wondering how the _hell_ West had managed to persuade him to come.

"Stop fidgeting," Ludwig growled under his breath, gripping Gilbert's shoulder so tight he swore he heard something break.

Hands immediately dropping to his sides, Gilbert heaved a huge internal sigh of relief when Ludwig left, releasing his scarlet-clad shoulder from the blonde's iron grip.

"Here you go~" Feliciano smiled brightly, handing Gilbert a thick pamphlet. "Ve~ Luddy told me to hand out programs!"

"I can see-" Gilbert began snarkily, but the flighty Italian had already scampered off.

Leaning against the wall, Gilbert examined it idly. Not from any real interest, of course, but for lack of anything better to do.

One name in particular caught his eye; a 'Roderich Edelstein, pianist.' His performance was first, leading into the rest of the orchestra, and last, leading it out.

"Damn," Gilbert whistled appreciatively. "Only 19 years old, and already a leading member of one of the most famous orchestras in the world?"

"Duh," Elizaveta said from beside him, making him jump. (He would, of course, later deny this.) "He's been practicing since before he could speak; Mozart is, after all, one of Roddy's hero's for a reason."

"Oh?" Gilbert cocked an eyebrow, folding the program and tucking it into his pocket. "Hm…wonderful to know…"

Gilbert sat next to his brother, who was trying to shut up Feliciano, who was chattering away happily.

The lights dimmed, and everyone quieted. The conductor stepped onto his podium, ignoring the audience entirely. He swished his baton to stage Right and the curtain rose.

Roderich was seated at a piano, blinking large, glasses-less eyes at the large crowd.

Gilbert thought he looked even younger than his age; sweet and innocent.

The brunette took a deep breath, flexed his hands, and looked to the conductor for his cue.

Gilbert's mouth went dry the instant Roderich began playing; first a slow tune -almost sad but most definitely sweet- that slowly sped up, growing louder with every measure. He reached a crescendo and paused, then began again, the rest of the orchestra joining in.

The Austrian could still be heard clearly throughout the entire 8-minute song.

The albino's eyes were riveted on the younger male, his fingertips pressed to his lips. He could not look away -not even when Ludwig pressed an arm across his chest to force him back into his seat. He realized he was gaping, but he didn't care.

_2) Tone it DOWN_

_You are NOT the best at everything. Not even anything remotely close. There will always be someone out there who is better than you at everything you do. I promise. You are not nearly as awesome as you think you are._

Gilbert huffed, "Yeah, right. I am exactly as awesome as I think I am, thank you very much!"

"Papa, why is the crazy German man talking to himself?"

"I do not know, darling. He's just a very… 'special' person, I suppose is the kindest way to put it."

Gilbert turned slowly to see a familiar Spanish man holding the hand of a tiny girl with honey-brown hair and huge blue eyes. "Uh…hi…?"

"Hi!" the little girl waved brightly. "My name is Ana! Papa Tonio and Daddy Lovi are adopting me!"

Gilbert blinked at her. "Erm, hello. Nice to meet you, Ana…" He glanced down at himself and felt the blood rush into his face. "Uh, Tony, don't you care that your soon-to-be daughter is seeing me in nothing but my boxers?"

Antonio shrugged, "She's seen others in less." Romano's swimsuit _was_ a Speedo. _And _damn _did he look good in it…_ The Spaniard found himself nearly drooling at the thought.

Giggling, Ana ran up to Gilbert and tugged on the hem of his boxers. "You wear cute undies, Gilly!"

Gilbert blushed darkly, staring down at his baby-blue boxers covered in little yellow ducks. Picking her up, Gilbert held Ana out at arm's length. "How the hell old are you, anyway?"

"I'm four~!" Ana laughed, eyes twinkling, holding up four fingers. "Four and a half!" She swung her legs back and forth, like she was swinging in a swing.

"Lovely," Gilbert muttered, throwing her over to Antonio.

The Spaniard caught her and sent a murderous glare at his friend. "You idiot…"

"Weee~!" Ana giggled, wriggling happily. "Again, again!"

"…Imma put some pants on," Gilbert sighed, turning away.

"Ve~ arrevederci!" Feliciano waved from the front door as Antonio, Ana and Romano walked down the sidewalk. "Come again soon please!"

"Okay~!" Ana called back, smiling and waving. "See you later, Feli!"

"Cute kid," Ludwig remarked absently, turning to return to his office.

"Ve, sí," Feliciano giggled. "I'd love to have children someday!" It would be a bit difficult, admittedly, but there were ways it could be worked around.

The German grunted noncommittally and shrugged.

Feliciano fluttered into the kitchen, sighing morosely, while Gilbert disappeared to the back yard.

"Roderich Edelstein!"

Just out the back door, Gilbert looked over to his neighbors just in time to see Roderich slip out the back door, obviously trying to be as quiet as humanly possible.

"Speks?" Gilbert questioned curiously, hands on his hips. "Trying to sneak away, are we?"

Roderich froze, spinning to face the albino. He almost tumbled off the stairs from his back porch. "Shut up," he hissed, "Can't you tell when someone is trying not to be seen?"

Gilbert blinked at him, cocking his head to the side. "I can't hear you very well when you're whispering, Speks."

Scowling, Roderich scurried over, keeping his head tucked between hunched shoulders. "I need somewhere to hide for a few hours…" he muttered, staring up the steps at the arrogant Prussian.

"Roderich!" an older man stuck his head out the door, a deep scowl furrowing his brow.

Said Austrian yelped quietly and tripped up the steps, ducking behind the slightly larger Gilbert. He gripped the back of his shirt tightly.

"You, Herr Beilshmidt," the man said, marching swiftly up. "Have you seen my son, Roderich? We are supposed to be having one of our weekly practice sessions now, and he has disappeared."

"Um, nope," Gilbert shook his head. "Haven't seen him at all today."

The man's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Gilbert grinned brightly, tucking his hands in his pockets. He was suddenly glad he'd grabbed his puffy black jacket before heading out back.

The man scowled and turned away, slamming the door of his house behind him.

Roderich finally breathed, sighing in relief, and sagged against Gilbert.

"Now," Gilbert questioned, staring off into space. "Why don't you want to see your dad?"

"He…scares me," Roderich mumbled, not moving from his position. Gilbert was surprisingly warm.

"Uh, why?" Gilbert cocked his head to the side.

"He's a professional pianist," Roderich muttered, twisting the hem of his white shirt between long fingers. "And he wants me to be one too, and he's always breathing down my neck…"

Turning, Gilbert dislodged the Austrian. "So?"

Roderich rubbed one eye absently, sighing tiredly. "It's…exhausting."

Gilbert stared at Roderich in shock.

"What?" Roderich snapped, crossing his arms irritably. He took a big step back.

Stepping closer, Gilbert cupped the back of Roderich's head and used the sleeve of his jacket to rub the rest of the makeup from around the teenager's eye.

Roderich paled, making the purple bruising look even more ghastly.

"Since when do you get black eyes?" Gilbert asked, frowning.

"Since I've been old enough to have an opinion to repress," Roderich mumbled softly, looking away.

Jaw dropping open, Gilbert stared at Roderich in shock. "You mean your _father _did this to you?!"

"It's not like it's the first time," Roderich shrugged simply, "And it probably won't be the last, either."

Gilbert scowled darkly and dragged Roderich into to the house, all the way to the kitchen.

"…Now what are you going to do?" Roderich asked curiously, looking around. Gilbert definitely wasn't the one cooking anything there, if the order and neatness was any indication.

"Roddy~! Ve~!"

Roderich was tackled from behind by an excited -flying- Italian. He stumbled forward, running into Gilbert's side.

"Roddy Roddy Roddy Roddy~!" Feliciano hugged Roderich tightly, squealing happily. "Ve~!"

"My god, you act like you haven't seen me in years," Roderich grumbled good-naturedly.

"Ve!" Feliciano giggled, letting do of the Austrian and spinning in a small circle.

"Brüder!" Gilbert yelled out the kitchen door. "Feliciano got into the coffee again!"

"I know," came the answering call. "That's why I sent him to find you."

Gilbert scowled, turning back to the others in the kitchen.

Feliciano fluttered gaily over to Gilbert, kissed his cheek, and walked (floated) away. "Tiiime to go paiiint~!"

There was pure silence in the kitchen.

"What now?" Roderich asked, looking up at Gilbert.

"It really was just a spur-of-the-moment thing," Gilbert mused, tapping his lip. "So…" he looked Roderich up and down, a vague soft light coming into his eyes when looking at the purple bruise on the other's face. "How's about you and I go out?"

Roderich blinked at him. "What?"

"You," Gilbert poked the shorter male's chest gently. "And I," he poked his own. "Should go out," he gestured in the general direction of the door. "And, maybe, entertain ourselves?"

Mouth forming a round 'O' of comprehension, Roderich looked down and away. "I'd say sure, except that I don't have a jacket."

"You can borrow one of mine," Gilbert shrugged easily.

"I'm flattered, but…I think your jackets would be a _bit_ large on me," Roderich said amusedly.

Pursing his lips, looking the whip-thin Austrian up and down. Yeah, Gilbert's anything would be too big for him. Glancing out the window, Gilbert eyed the Austrian's house thoughtfully. His lips spread in a slow grin, and he said, "I'll be _right_ back, m'kay? Don't move a _muscle_!"

"…What…?"

But the albino was gone, dashing out the back door, across the yard, and into the other's house.

A low voice sounded from deeper in, muttering lowly.

Gilbert peered around the edge of the doorway, careful not to be seen.

An older man with dark brown hair and green eyes was pacing back and forth, one hand behind his back, the other yanking angrily at his tie. It was Roderich and Elizaveta's father.

"Stupid bastard," the man snarled. "Useless son of a bitch….!"

Gilbert's eyebrows knit together. Was he talking about…Roderich? He shook his head, clearing it of furious thoughts, and slipped silently down the hall to the coat closet. He snatched the dark royal purple double-breasted jacket he'd seen Roddy wearing recently, and a long white scarf.

Scurrying down the hall, he stopped to stare at Roderich's father again.

"How could he do this to me?" The man growled, slamming his fists on the piano furiously. "I'll wring his scrawny neck next I see him…"

It was all Gilbert could do not to run in there and beat the man to a quivering mess. He turned on his heel and left, forcing himself to take deep breaths. Now was not the best time to release his inner Templar.

"Heya Speks," Gilbert grinned brilliantly, calm and happy and 'awesome' once more.

Blinking confusedly at him, Roderich stared between the albino and the jacket. "How…" he finally began, "did you get that?"

"Didn't you know the awesome me is also a ninja?" Gilbert laughed obnoxiously, holding out the jacket and scarf.

Sighing in exasperation, Roderich reached up to adjust his glasses, then realized that they weren't there. He sighed in resignation and dropped his hand.

Gilbert helped him into the jacket, then went to grab his own: a dark olive green military jacket lined with soft polar fleece. Meanwhile, Roderich wrapped the white scarf securely around his throat.

"I meant to ask," Gilbert stretched his arms above his head languidly, popping his shoulders and back. "Where's your specs, Speks?"

"Elizaveta has them," Roderich shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. "She says she won't give them back until I can learn to live without my 'security blanket.'" His lips twisted into an expression of distaste over the words.

Gilbert couldn't help but laugh, ruffling Roderich's hair kindly.

"Don't make me push you into the street," Roderich pouted, nudging Gilbert's ribs with his elbow.

"Alright, alright," Gilbert laughed amusedly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The two settled into a comfortable silence.

Roderich began humming, fingers drumming out imaginary piano keys on his thigh.

Gilbert looked at him curiously. "I didn't know you knew that tune."

"Of course I do," Roderich laughed lightly, "Why wouldn't I?"

"You just don't seem like much of a pop person," Gilbert said easily. "More like a…classical music person, or…" he looked Roderich up and down thoughtfully. "Or perhaps a soft rock type of person."

Roderich rolled his eyes, "while I do appreciate the classics -like everyone should- I prefer Alt-Rock, thank you very much."

Laughing, Gilbert pulled the smaller male into a one-armed side-hug. "I like you, Speks. You're actually pretty damn awesome. Not as awesome as me, of course, that's impossible, but damn close!"

Rolling his eyes, Roderich just punched his shoulder, trying -and failing- to hide a smirk.

_3) Take It Slow_

_Don't bear down on everyone around you. Try not to drive everyone away -or insane- okay? Not everyone wants to be near your cocky ass all the time. Actually, I can pretty much guarantee that no one wants to be around you when you're being too prideful, period. PERIOD._

Gilbert pursed his lips, hands on his hips, as he stared at his shockingly clean room. On one wall was the black bookshelves that held his entire recorded history (he'd been writing a page a day for over a quarter of a century -his life deserved a whole bookshelf all its own). On the wall to the right of the shelves was a flat-screen TV with a huge couch and table in front of it. Next, on the far side of the room from the door, was his huge emperor-sized bed. He could fit like eight people on it -comfortably.

"Brüder," Ludwig called down the stairs. "You have guests."

"Send'm down!" Gilbert yelled, looking around for his shirt. Where had that gone…?

"I'm shocked, it's clean!" Francis laughed, spinning in a small circle to get a full look at the spotless room. "Last I was here the floor could barely be seen!"

"Ja, ja," Gilbert waved one hand flippantly, trying not to smirk to hugely. "Anyway, what can I do yah for, Franny?"

"I was wondering how my only single ami was doing," Francis sang, flopping down onto the soft couch. "So, now that I am here, how are you doing? Any pretty ladies caught your eye yet?"

"Eh," Gilbert shrugged, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. "Not really…"

"Aw, poor Gilly," Francis cooed, springing to his feet in an instant. Patting Gilbert's head, he smiled serenely. "I'm sure you'll find your someone someday!"

"Yeah, whatever," Gilbert rolled his eyes and grabbed Francis's wrist, hauling his back upstairs. "Come on; it's too damn hot down there."

Now that was a blatant lie if Francis had ever heard one (and he had heard many) but he decided not to press it.

"Ah, Gilbert~" Francis smiled happily, hugging his friend. "Thank you for entertaining moi while mon amour kicked me out of our house!"

"Uh-huh," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Whatever; see you la-"

He was interrupted by the back door bursting open and an almost frighteningly skinny form dressed in a purple t-shirt and jeans dashed in.

"Roderich…?" Gilbert questioned, watching the Austrian slam the door shut and lean there for a moment, chest heaving.

His eyes were wide, pupils dilated in terror. His normally pristine hair was in a wild disarray, fanning out erratically. One hand clutched the loose material at the front of his shirt as he stared around in panic. It was like he didn't recognize anything at all. He bolted for the front door as the one behind him rattled.

"Speks!" Gilbert exclaimed, catching hold of the teenager as he tried to dash by. "What the hell is going on?"

"Let-let me go!" Roderich squirmed, staring at the door longingly. His lower lip was split and a cut in his forehead oozed blood. "Please just let me go!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on," Gilbert said sternly, holding Roderich firmly in place by his shoulders.

Wriggling desperately, Roderich shook his head. "He's c-coming, he's just out the door! Please just let m-me go! I can't let him catch me again; he'll kill me for sure this time!"

"Who…is 'he'?" Francis questioned curiously, looking between the two and the door.

The door breezed open, and the large and imposing figure of Roderich's father loomed there imperiously.

"Can I help you?" Gilbert asked coolly, keeping the shaking Roderich tight in his grasp.

"That brat you are coddling is my son," Heinrich Edelstein said imperiously, crossing his arms. "I would like him back. Now."

"You're not very affectionate, are you," Gilbert scowled darkly.

"Fathers are not meant to be affectionate," Heinrich Edelstein sneered. "They are meant to give discipline and be respected."

"Non," Francis shook his head, one hand on Gilbert's tense shoulder. He knew he had to diffuse this soon, or Gilbert would most likely explode and take the man with him. "Fathers, monsieur, are meant to be kind. They are meant to teach. They are meant to provide. And," his eyes darkened, "they are meant to love."

"Now go away," Gilbert growled evilly, wrapping his arms protectively around Roderich. "You aren't wanted here."

Heinrich scowled, expression tight, but turned sharply on his heel and waltzed proudly away.

"I do not like that man," Francis sniffed disdainfully.

"You and me both," Gilbert agreed, hefting a shaking Roderich up into his arms. He rubbed the younger male's back lovingly.

Francis looked him up and down, then smiled softly. "Ah, Gilbert…"

"What?" Gilbert asked guardedly, looking up at Francis.

"Oh, nothing," Francis laughed lightly, waving goodbye. "You'd make a great papa some day, if only you weren't so obnoxious." He slipped out the door before Gilbert could retort, closing the hefty wooden object silently.

Scowling after him, Gilbert brought Roderich into the kitchen, setting him gently on the table.

Feliciano looked like he was about to cry, holding up a First-Aide kit. "I thought you might need this."

"Danke, Feli," Gilbert tried to smile at the Italian, but found it incredibly hard to do so. Smiling was impossible right now.

Nodding understandingly, Feliciano fled to Ludwig, throwing himself in his German's arms.

Roderich tipped dangerously to the side, blinking blearily. "I'm…sorry, Gilbert…" he mumbled, eyes closed, as the Eastern-German dapped at the cut on his face.

"What for?" Gilbert asked absently, pointed tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

"For being such a bother," Roderich sighed, twiddling his thumbs.

"No, you're no bother," Gilbert shook his head vehemently. "You've never been a bother; you're Awesome. Just like me, you know?"

Roderich scoffed, opening his eyes to roll them. "Whatever…"

"You make it sound like being Awesome is some weird, terrible disease," Gilbert pursed his lips.

"I'm just…curious as to what makes you think I'm awesome," Roderich huffed slightly, eyes falling closed.

"Well," Gilbert's lips curled into a small smile, lightly pressing a butterfly bandage to Roderich's cut. "For starters, you play piano like a _god_. Seriously, not kidding…"

_4) Don't be Picky_

_I don't give a flying if you're straight, gay, bisexual, pansexual, asexual -whatever!- or of this _thing _that is the total focus of your attention is man, woman, young, old, or inanimate bloody object. All that really matters is that you -yes, you, you oblivious, dense, blind, idiotic bastard- _love them.

Roderich woke to a gentle knocking. He sat up slowly, trying to find his bearings in the dim light, and realized…

He had no clue where he was.

At all.

In the slightest.

"Roddy, are you awake in there?"

Looking over to the source of the voice, Roderich saw Feliciano poking his head through a dim doorway.

"Ja, I am awake," he replied, throat feeling thick and dry as paper.

Feliciano released a soft, "Ve~" before saying, "come on upstairs, Roddy. It's time for dinner."

Roderich nodded and Feliciano left. Sliding out of the bed, the Austrian surveyed the room curiously.

Bookshelves filled with notebooks and regular books lined almost two whole walls; a TV, shelves holding games and gaming consoles, and doors filled the other two.

He spotted a familiar pair of black frameless glasses and picked them up, sighing in relief. After slipping them on, Roderich walked to the still-open door and cautiously climbed the stairs.

"Guten nacht," Ludwig murmured softly, nodding. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," Roderich smiled at his hands. "And…that was Gilbert's room?"

"Sí," Feliciano smiled, giving the Austrian a hug. "Ai, Roddy, why didn't you tell anyone?"

Roderich blinked, reaching up to pat the teary-eyed Italian on the head. "It… it never really occurred to me. It had…always happened."

A pair of strong arms wrapped around the Austrian teenager, making him jerk in surprise.

"Strong little man," Gilbert murmured in his ear, and a dark blush crept up Roderich's neck and across his cheeks.

Roderich mumbled something unintelligible, twisting to look at the albino embracing him. "You…you're a bit close…"

"…Mhm," Gilbert nodded slowly, reluctantly letting him go.

Feliciano answered the door, coming face-to-face with…

Nothing.

There was no one there.

"Nn, how odd," Feliciano remarked thoughtfully. "I would have sworn that I heard someone knock…" he looked down in thought, and stared for several moments at the white envelope there.

After a heartbeat, he finally registered what it said and gave a soft exclamation. He picked it up and dashed back into the house, leaving the door swinging behind him.

"Roddy Roddy Roddy!" he cried, bursting into the small living room.

Gilbert jerked, clicking together two sections of LEGO walls. "Holy-"

"…Yes?" the teenager looked up from the book Ludwig had lent him curiously.

"You-you got mail!" Feliciano came to a panting halt, holding out the letter. "See! See, look look look!"

"Okay, yes, I see," Roderich chuckled lightly, taking the letter. He opened it -it wasn't sealed- and remarked, "Oh, it's from Elizaveta…" He read, and he started to frown. After a few moments, his frown deepened, and then he started biting his lip.

He finally replaced the letter in the envelope, staring at his lap.

"What…did it say?" Gilbert asked softly, shuffling over on his knees. "Something bad?"

"You could say that," Roderich sighed softly, rubbing his eyes. "Elizaveta is being sent to an all-girl's school in Hungary. The house is being sold. I need to be packed and out in three days."

"Where are you going to go?" Feliciano asked curiously, cocking his head to the side. "Are you going to Hungary too? Or Austria?"

"No," Roderich shook his head. "I don't…know what I'm going to do. I've been disowned. Everything I do I'll have to do on my own."

Gilbert frowned deeply, but didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if there was anything he could say.

So he just rested his hand lightly on the Austrian's slim knee, thumb rubbing slow circles while the other cried.

He had never felt more useless in his entire life.

_PART II_

_1) Be Kind_

"_Love is faithful, love is kind…" Try it. Help out, but don't be pushy. Be kind, and, yes, it is okay to have a soft heart._

"Hey, Speks!" Gilbert called through the nearly empty house, carrying a stack of collapsed empty boxes. "Where are you?" he dropped the boxes on the kitchen floor, listening intently.

Soft piano music filtered through the walls, and Gilbert smiled. He loved Roderich's playing -among other things. He followed the sweet and wistful tune, looping through the secondary living room, where he saw Roderich gently tracing the ivory keys.

"Hey Speks," Gilbert said softly, knocking on the doorframe.

Roderich looked up, a subtle misting of tears in his eyes. "H-hello…"

Eyes widening, Gilbert walked forward and pulled Roderich into a hug. "Hey, hey now, Speks, Roderich, what's wrong?"

"It was…my mothers," Roderich mumbled softly, hanging his head. "We used to…practice on it together, when Father wasn't home. She taught me all sorts of tunes; he didn't like her to play. She'd always been better than him."

"…Oh…" Gilbert nodded slowly. An idea sprang into his head, and he grinned. "Hey, Speks, would you go get Ludwig for me?"

"…Sure…" Roderich nodded slowly, stepping away from the albino. He paused next to the door, glancing back. "Why, though?"

"Well, I may be awesome," Gilbert smirked cockily, "but even I can't lift an entire grand piano by myself."

Roderich's eyes lit up. "Really-?"

"Yeah, duh," Gilbert grinned impishly. "Now go on; shoo."

"Thank you, Gilbert. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Gilberto, how is Roddy doing?" Antonio asked curiously, swinging his legs like a small child.

Gilbert smiled absently, stirring his coffee with a small red straw. "He's fine. Probably plinking away at the piano back home."

Antonio and Francis glanced at each other, both smirking a little.

Somehow, Gilbert recognized that look. Recognized it well.

And since when had Antonio and Francis started exchanging looks like that?

"Mon ami," Francis said gently, clapping a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "How long have you known?"

"How long have I known what?" Gilbert asked guardedly, staring between the two.

"That you're in love?" Antonio supplied.

"…Oh…" Gilbert stared down at his coffee like it held all the secrets of the universe. "Well…probably a few weeks now, to be honest…"

"Does Roddy know?" Francis asked, cocking his head to the side. Antonio copied him.

"Nein," Gilbert shook his head regretfully. "I just- I don't know how to tell him without coming off as, well, creepy. He's almost a decade younger than I am!"

"What are you, veintisiete?" Antonio asked, pursing his lips. "He's got to be veinticinco or so, with the way he plays piano."

"He's nineteen," Gilbert deadpanned.

Francis winced, "Ah, that is a bit of an age gap…"

"Lovi is only veintidos," Antonio blinked.

"You're only twenty-six," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "That's not weird. I'm twenty-seven -almost thirty, damn it!- and he's nineteen! I like a fucking teenager!"

"At least he's of a legal age," Francis shrugged, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

Gilbert just rolled his eyes, subtly flipping the Frenchman off.

"Just be honest," Antonio urged, a hand on Gilbert's forearm. "Please, Gilberto? Don't be unhappily single!"

"But I'm not-" Gilbert was about to retort (like he had a thousand times before) but just sighed and gave up, staring down at his drink. "Fine, you win…" _I'll tell him tomorrow…_

"Speks…"

Roderich paused and looked up from the piano keys. "Ja…?"

"C'mere a second," Gilbert motioned from the couch. "I've got something I want to talk with you about."

He looked oddly serious, making Roderich's stomach drop like a ball of lead.

"A-alright," he stood and walked over, sitting down nervously next to Gilbert. "If-if it's about me still living here, I'm sorry, I really am, I just…" Roderich rambled on, twisting his hands in his lap, while Gilbert's eyes slowly widened.

Eventually he silenced the paranoid Austrian by gently pressing a white finger to his pink lips. "No, Speks, it has nothing to do with you still being here."

Roderich flushed, looked abashed. "Sorry… But if not that, then…what?"

Gilbert suddenly looked uncomfortable, shifting and looking away. "I… think… I… like… you…?"

"…What?" Roderich blinked, utterly confused.

"IthinkIseriouslyli-love you?" Gilbert's mouth twisted into an embarrassed line, his cheeks burned red, and his eyes scrunched shut. "Ah, gottverdammt! Why is this so hard to say?!"

Roderich cocked his head to the side. "Uh, ich liebe dich…?"

Gilbert's eyes flew open and he turned back to Roderich. "Ja! Ja, ja, ich liebe dich!"

Eyes widening, Roderich's mouth formed a round 'o' of surprise. "Are… you saying that…you love…me?"

"Yes!" Gilbert exclaimed, eyes flaring with bright passion. "I do! _Why _does it sound so much less girly when you say it?"

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Roderich said softly, "I love you too, Gilbert… Even if you are obnoxious."

Smiling cockily -as was his habit- Gilbert leaned forward and kissed Roderich right on the lips, stroking his thumb over the teenager's cheekbone.

Roderich practically melted.

~/\~

"I thought Gilbert was straight…?" Alfred questioned curiously, watching the albino waltz around the ballroom, holding tight to his young Austrian lover.

"Only as straight as you are," Matthew laughed lightly, taking a sip of his wine.

Alfred rolled his eyes, pulling Matthew close and placing a kiss on his cheek. "Have I ever told you I love you?"

"Once or twice," Matthew smiled.

Meanwhile, Gilbert and Roderich were waltzing fluidly in and out of other couples, completely oblivious to everything around them.

"I didn't know you could dance," Roderich mused, adjust the hand on his hip to prevent it from slipping too low.

"Of course," Gilbert smirked, "I'm awesome; I can do anything you want me to. I love you, Speks."

"I love you too, Gilbert," Roderich rolled his eyes, giving up on keeping his partner from groping him. "And you are so lucky I do…"

"That I am," the albino smiled, leaning down to steal a kiss.


	6. Sloth

"Is he asleep? _Seriously?_"

"Ja, so it would seem."

"Damn!" a low whistle. "That takes talent!"

"…I wish I could sleep like that. I probably _could_ sleep like that it _someone_ didn't keep me awake all night long."

"Kesesesese~!

"Idiot. Just put the book by his side."

Herakles felt something light settle on his head.

"I said his side, not his head, dummkopf."

"Kesese!"

"Let's just go…"

"Okay Speks~"

There were fading footsteps, followed by silence.

Drifting languidly towards full consciousness, Herakles tipped his head forward, dropping the light weight onto his lap. His eyes opened drowsily, peering through slitted lids to the black book on his lap. He forced his hands to move, flipped the book open to the marked page.

"…Sloth…?" he asked softly, yawning widely. "Ah…sounds pretty… accurate…for me…"

_1) Lazy. Bum._

_Sloth… Honestly, another one of my favorite sins. But…probably one of the worst. Nothing ever really gets done. But I've noticed that, a lot of times, the Slothful ones are the best lovers. I should know -I am slothful, and I'm a damn good lover if I do say so myself._

The lithe Grecian male yawned, stretching languidly. Crawling drowsily to his knees, he twisted to the left and right, cracked his back with a soft sigh of contentment, and climbed out of his sumptuous silk- and sleek cotton-dressed bed.

"…Food…" he yawned, rubbing his eyes and he stumbled blindly down the hallway. A few cats threaded around his ankles, but he ignored them, determined to make it all the way to the kitchen before giving in to the pet-cat urge.

It was really, really hard.

Upon reaching the kitchen, however, Herakles paused, all thoughts of food or cats gone from his one-track mind. He cocked his head to the side, watching the petite black-haired male working in his kitchen.

"Well, hello, Kiku-Chan," Herakles mumbled softly, smiling absently.

The Japanese jumped slamming his knife against the cutting board. "Oh! Um, Herakres-San…" He peered at Herakles shyly through a fringe of dark hair, blushing lightly.

"Why are you here…?" Herakles yawned, patting his open mouth tiredly.

"I…" he looked back down to the cutting board, running his fingernails along the edge shyly. "I was wondering if you were hungry," he lisped a little, returning to cutting celery. "Yao-San showed me a new recipe a few days back, so I thought I might use you as a test subject…?"

Nodding amicably, Herakles sat in one of the barstools floating around his kitchen. Of course they all had backs -he wouldn't be able to sleep in them otherwise.

"Forgive me if I intrude," Kiku began, tossing the celery into the pan already containing broccoli, potato chunks, leeks, beef strips, and sprouts. "But, Herakres-San…where is your shirt?"

Herakle's gaze dropped to his caramel-colored, toned, glaringly unclothed chest. "Ah," he shrugged, stretching luxuriously. "Mm, probably on my bed somewhere. I have a slight tendency to strip when I sleep."

Okay, perhaps not so slight. It was a small wonder if he woke up still wearing underwear -let alone anything else- so him in pants right now? A miracle!

Kiku nodded thoughtfully, gaze focused on the sauté pan. "If you say so, Herakres-San…"

Nodding, a faint smile on his lips, Herakles commented absently, "That smells wonderful, Kiku-Chan."

"Arigato," Kiku gave the sauté pan a quick flip and stir, making the contents sizzle. He scooped some of the mix up and into a shallow bowl already containing some noodles and handed it and a set of quality chopsticks to Herakles with a low bow. "Be carefurr," he urged gently, "it's stirr hot."

"Efharesto," Herakles smiled, poking the chopsticks into the noodles.

Kiku leaned back against the counter, tapping his fingers together near his waist.

"Your timing is perfect, Kiku," Herakles standing and bowing. "Arigato."

"I-it's nothing," Kiku shook his head, blushing darkly.

Setting the bowl in the sink, Herakles remarked absently, "You'd probably make a very good husband someday." _Or an even better wife._

Kiku was silent -eyes closed, face aflame- but the faint traces of a smile were glaringly obvious.

"What were you planning on doing after you fed me?" Herakles asked, peering at the petite Japanese man through thick black eyelashes.

"I…" Kiku paused in packing up the sauté mix. "I had not thought about it too much…"

"Great," Herakles smiled, eyes closed. "That means I can kidnap you for an hour or two, right?"

Kiku started blushing again, murmuring softly to himself in rapid Japanese. Herakles attempted to catch what he was saying -he spoke Japanese almost as well as he spoke English- but couldn't before Kiku was silent again and had started nodding slowly.

"Perfect," Herakles nodded, then yawned. "I can grab a cup of coffee, and I know the perfect place to go…"

"Prease put a shirt on as werr," Kiku asked politely, closing his eyes, cheeks tinged with a light pink.

"Alright," Herakles shrugged, not bothering to hide his amused smile. "I'll be right back."

"This prace is beautifur," Kiku breathed, eyes wide as he stared around the immaculate garden.

"Thanks," Herakles smiled proudly, strangely awake (for the moment, anyway). "I designed it, but I had a little help putting it all together. He led Kiku through the mostly traditional Japanese garden -with a few distinctly Greek elements thrown in.

"Who he-helped you?" Kiku asked curiously, haltingly correcting his lisp. He crouched to tenderly run his fingers through a crystal-clear koi pond, making small fish scatter. A fountain bearing the nine Muses burbled quietly in the center.

"Paris," Herakles said, "and Gabriel. Did you know they're dating?"

Kiku paused, hand outstretched to a fluffy cocoa-colored kitten. "No…no, I did not. Do you know how rong?"

"Since before Antonio and Romano got together, I think," Herakles mused, watching Kiku pet the kitten with a vague smile on his face. "Maybe even before Ludwig and Feli, now that I think about it…"

"Hn," Kiku nodded thoughtfully, giving the cat one last rub between it's ears before standing and stretching languidly. "That makes sense, with how crose they are. And…he's from Brazir, right?"

Herakles nodded. "C'mon, Kiku-Chan. I want to show you something." He tugged gently on the slim Japanese male's wrist, leading him into the center of the garden."

"Oh…my goodness…" Kiku gasped, holding one hand to his mouth, staring up at the large Grecian-style statue. Ivy vines crawled around the pedestal, drawing the eye up to the main body; a scene from classic Japanese literature, it was the two lovers who were separated by the Milky Way embracing passionately.

"Efcharesto," Herakles placed a light hand on the man's elbow, a small smile on his lips. Perfectly detailed and life-sized, in the dark they could almost be mistaken for real people. "I carved it myself."

Kiku turned to him, eyes wide and sparkling. "Rearry? You did? I didn't know you had suck tarent!"

Smiling proudly, Herakles let his hand drop. "Arigato, Kiku-Chan."

_2) WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING_

_WAKE UP. I don't care _what_ sort of drugs you have to force down your throat, STAY AWAKE. I mean, _damn_ man, what the hell do you do all day? Sleeeeeep sleeeeep sleeeep all DAY _LONG!_ That's no damn way to live! Go out for once in your life; spen some time with the people you most enjoy being around. Live a little, guy._

"Hey, Paris."

The bluenette paused, staring accusingly at the back of the brunette head. "How did you know…?! You're not even looking remotely in this direction, damn it!"

"I could hear you," Herakles said simply, twisting to look at her with his duster paused mid-air. "What do you need, Paris?"

Pouting, Paris crossed her arms. "What, I can't see how my friends are doing, just on a whim?"

"Eh," Herakles shrugged, taking a sip of something from a tall mug. "I suppose you can."

"…What the hell are you drinking?" Paris asked suspiciously, marching over.

"A type of coffee," Herakles said innocently, easily holding it out of her reach. "Alfred gave it to my for Christmas or something."

"Since when do you drink coffee?" Paris was incredulous.

"Since I realized I spend far too much time sleeping," Herakles said, fountain curl at the crown of his head bobbing in agreement.

Paris blinked, then smiled slowly. "Alright…awesome!" She turned and flounced away, calling, "Good luck!" behind her.

_3) Requires Your Attention_

_Well, now that you're awake, and you've started spending more time with people you like, who do you really, honestly, truly, most-of-all above-the-rest like to spend time with?_

"Hey, Kiku-Chan!"

Kiku paused and looked around curiously, only to start upon sight of a bright-emerald-eyed man with wavy chocolate hair.

"H-Herakrese-San…?" He asked curiously, cocking his head to the side.

"Hey," Herakles smiled brightly, tucking his thumb into his pocket. "So, where you headed, Kiku-Chan?"

"To…the bookstore," Kiku said slowly. "Wourd, ah, would you rike to come with me?"

Smiling happily, Herakles bowed. "I would be honored."

Kiku nodded, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, and the two continued on in amicable silence.

"Need some help there?" Herakles asked lightly, watching Kiku struggle to grab a book on the top shelf.

"No," Kiku mumbled, staring at the book in frustration. After a few more vain tries, he growled, glaring daggers, hands on his hips.

Herakles laughed lightly, walking closer. He fastened his long hands around Kiku's waist and lifted him easily, holding him where the book could easily be reached.

Blushing hotly, Kiku snatched the book and gripped it close to his chest, mumbling under his breath. "Th-thank you Herakrese-S-san…"

"You're welcome," Herakles smiled, setting Kiku back down and ruffling his hair lovingly. "And yes, I know I could have just grabbed the book for you."

Kiku turned an eyen darker red, looking down and away. "Ah… Herakrese-San…"

"Hn…Kiku…Chan…" Herakles yawned tiredly, stretching out on the floor beside the Japanese male.

"Hai?"

"I'm sore," Herakles curled up against Kiku's side, one hand resting on his knee. "I worked too much yesterday…!"

"Wourd you rike me to give you a backrub?" Kiku asked curiously, watching Herakles roll around on the floor like one of the kittens he loved so much.

"Oh, would you?" Herakles blinked at him with large emerald eyes.

"Hai," Kiku nodded, beckoning the brunette over. "Come, Herakrese-San. Get comfortabre."

Herakles shuffled over, flopping down on his stomach in front of his friend.

Smiling softly, Kiku cracked his knuckles and got to work, massaging all the kinks and knots in the Greek's back.

Herakles groaned, head flopping forward. His back arched against Kiku's skilled hands. "Oh, god, Kiku…you're fantastic at this…!"

"Arigato," Kiku smiled, leaning into his hands. It would be easier if he could sit somewhere differently -perhaps on Herakles' upper thighs or lower back. But no, he wouldn't.

"Hng," Herakles moaned softly, eyes fluttering, pushing against Kiku's hands contentedly.

"Ai ya!" Yao exclaimed, grabbing Kiku's shoulders. "Kiku! I haven't seen you in ages! Where have you been, niihon, aru?"

"I've been, with, ah, Herakrese-San," Kiku said quietly, blushing faintly.

Yao cocked an eyebrow. "Herakles, aru?"

"…Hai," Kiku fought the urge to look away.

"You haven't had sex with him yet, have you?" Yao asked, forcibly pushing Kiku's hair out of his eyes.

Kiku immediately turned an eyen darker shade of read. "Yao-San! No! I would- I would never!"

"Ai ya, he's cute though," Yao whispered conspiratorially, a wicked gleam in his chestnut eyes. "You know he is, aru~!"

"Hush, Yao-San!" Kiku squeaked, hiding his face in his hands.

"Ai, you like him!" Yao squealed excitedly, clasping his hands to his chest. "Aru, how exciting! You should ask him on a date, Kiku-Chan~!"

"No!" Kiku yelped, shaking his head rapidly.

"Aw, Kiku!" Yao whined, wrapping the younger in a hug. "Aru, nothing bad's gonna happen! Don't be scared!"

"I'm not-" Kiku knew that protesting would be useless. Yao probably wouldn't even listen to a word he had to say (just like always). "…Fine…I… I might."

"Aru~!" Yao spun the petite male in a circle excitedly. "Ai ya, you'd make such a kawaii couple!"

"_Yao!_"

_Part II_

_1) _Why_ It Requires Your Attention_

_Uh, duh, you already know why it requires your attention. You like this guy. Like, _like_ like. Love, even, Don't you? Pft, of course you do; its not even a question._

Herakles dropped the book to his lap thoughtfully, staring up at the blank white ceiling.

Did he like Kiku?

He'd never really thought about it, actually, but now that e was, he'd have to say…

Yeah. Yeah, he did. Quite a lot, actually.

"H-Herakrese-San?" Kiku asked hesitantly, poking his head through the front door cautiously. "Are you home?"

"Yeah…" Herakles called, closing the guide and tossing it onto the bottom shelf of the bookcase and sliding up off the floor.

"Ah, herro," Kiku smiled hesitantly at him, bowing shallowly.

"Oh, how Herakles adored that cute accent…

"Hey, Herakles smiled, leaning against the counter. "What can I do you for?" It was in his primary nature to kiss first and confess later, but he knew (from seeing it happen to others before) that Kiku didn't really go for that sort of thing.

Kiku preferred a confession first, and then maybe, _maybe_, if he really, _really_ liked you, you'd get a quick peck. Probably on the cheek.

Kiku blushed, looking down. "Ah, Girbirt-San…invited me to go to his… thing… p-party…? And he says I have to bring a d-date…" He started to shrink in on himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. "W-wourd you g-go with me…? P-prease?"

Herakles smiled, eyes closing happily. "Of course I'll go with you."

Kiku sighed in relief, "Arigato gozaimasu, Herakrese-San."

"When is it?"

"A month from now," Kiku said quietly. "Casual; Girbirt-San wourdn't ret Roderich-San have it be formar."

"Thank goodness," Herakles stretched, just now noticing his lack of shirt. "I look terrible in a tux."

Kiku smiled in amusement, shaking his head in disagreement. "Herakrese-San wourd rook good in anything. But…wourd you rike some runch?"

"Yes please," Herakles nodded eagerly, bowing deeply. He loved Kiku's cooking.

"May I have this dance?" Herakles asked, holding out a hand to a blushing -but still agreeing- Kiku. He smiled, gently taking Kiku's hand and leading him out to the center of the dance floor, ignoring the other couples that danced together as well.

Kiku bit his lip, hesitantly placing a hand on Herakles' shoulder and the other against his palm.

"Thank you for this honor, dearest," Herakles purred contentedly, placing a gentle hand on Kiku's narrow hip.

Looking down, Kiku's blush went even darker. "H-Herakrese-San… you're embarrassing me…!"

Pausing mid-step, Herakles looked down at Kiku with a small smile. He hand slid up from Kiku's hip, tenderly cradling the side of Kiku's head. "Kiku…"

"…Ah?" Kiku stared up at him, eyes wide.

"I think," Herakles leaned down, kissing him lightly. "No, I know… I love you, Kiku-Chan."

Kiku bit his lip to prevent his smile from spreading too wide. "I…" his hand slid from Herakles' shoulder to his chest, fiddling lightly with the collar of his shirt. "I rove you too, Herakrese-San…Kun…?"

"Chan," Herakles corrected with a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose.

"Herakrese…Chan," Kiku rolled the term around thoughtfully, acquiring the taste. It was quite addictive, to be honest.

"Perfect," Herakles smiled, resting his forehead against Kiku's.

Across the hall, Alfred was rapidly poking Matthew's side, hissing, "Matt! Matt! Matt!"

"Hn?" the Canadian turned idly.

"Look!" Alfred pointed to Herakles and Kiku, just standing there, staring deep into each other's eyes.

Matthew blinked. "Ah…talk about a couple of fools in love," he remarked. "They're pretty damn adorable, though."

"I would have sworn that Hera was, like, asexual or something," Alfred exclaimed, waving his hands.

"Only as much as you are straight," Matthew smirked, leaning over to give his boyfriend-husband a firm kiss.

"Bleh," Alfred scowled, wrinkling his nose.

~/\~

"Herakrese-Chan, it's time to wake up now."

The lithe Grecian male yawned and stretched, shuffling beneath thick cerulean covers. A pair of pajama bottoms slid out and plopped onto the floor. "Do I have to?" Herakles whined. "It's Sunday, Kiku-Chan! Today's the day to sleep in!"

"You have too," Kiku nodded, dragging down the sheets. He was used to seeing Herakles in his underwear -the brunette had a really bad habit of wandering around with no clothes on.

Pouting, Herakles reached out and grabbed Kiku, pulling him down onto the bed beside him. "But I don't wanna."

A faint blush dusted Kiku's cheeks, and he shifted. "Herakrese-Chan…"

Herakles pulled Kiku on top of him, kissing him languidly, hand drifting up his shirt. He was determined to get his lover as naked as he in as little time as possible. "Nn, Kiku-Chan, we can be just a _little_ late, right…?" he pressed teasing kisses down Kiku's throat.

Kiku gave up trying to resist and sighed, rolling his eyes in amusement. Enjoy the moment.

"…Baka…"


End file.
